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
Hope sure has filled my thoughts over the past couple of days …
I lost a dear friend to heart disease a few years back. Pam would have been 52 this month. She found the above poem painted underneath a bridge outside of the hospital where she was receiving treatments. Her husband sent it to me, and said it gave her much comfort.
So today’s post goes out to another dear friend of mine, whom I just learned could use some of the Divine Being’s healing energies and grace, our prayers, and most of all … Hope.
♥ VP
