Mark's Note: Okay, so, this isn't something just randomly submitted to be posted on this blog. This is a poem by a famous poet a while back that I just found and absolutely adore. For those of you unfamiliar with who Emily Dickinson is, she wrote nearly 1,800 poems, and yet fewer than 12 of them were published in her lifetime. Instead, after she died, her sister found Emily's poetry, and had it published. She's one of my favorite famous poets ever, and after finding this poem by her...well, I just really wanted to share it. There's so much meaning within this simple (and short) poem.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Deep....
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