Hope is the thing with feathers
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.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson lived all her life in Massachusetts, USA. Never traveled far, but her words took flight and her poems are known all over the world. My favorite is this one above. I wonder if she could imagine that after centuries her words will still be traveling and touching the soul of many people.
Today’s word for Sunday Stills is flight, so nothing better than feathers and a poem about feathers to make our imagination fly away.
Tea & Paper 
Beautiful poem and lovely start to Sunday
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thanks dear, always starting with blank pages!
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An inspiring poem, Elizabeth, reading Dickenson’s words on the flight of hope. Thanks for sharing this, just beautiful!
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Thanks Terri, poetry always makes me fly, and this poem is really special to me.
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A favourite of mine too ❤
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Mine as well!
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of many I suppose! 🙂
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It’s special, I think it touches many of us!
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A crisp, clean page with plenty of room to fly. Lovely, Elizabeth.
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words and feathers! i was just thinking that really are 2 great ways to fly! have a lovely sunday my friend!
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