I feel the need for a poem today; for beautiful words to fill my soul. And so I defer to one who can weave words together so much more eloquently than I……
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)
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3 comments:
Chris here ~ I sure am glad you have this blog - even if you are saying you've slacked off - I was able to catch up with you & the happenings of the Murphy family. I miss ya girl! I hope yowur wittle finga is dooin betta! Tried for the cutzie accent. Talk, blog or text ya soon! :)
I always liked that poem, but it always reminds me of the Woody Allen joke now. Great choice!
Chrissy~
Vino and catch up soon, girlfriend!
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