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Hope is the Thing with Feathers
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by Emily Dickinson
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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
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And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
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I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
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I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
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This poem is part of a much larger poem called, Life.
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Thank you mom for my wonderful Emily Dickinson book - I've enjoyed it so very much!!
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(Me - On My 5th Birthday)
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P.S. Hugs (xxx) and kisses (ooo) you're the best mom ever!!
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5 comments:
Sabina, I feel the same way about my mom. We are both lucky, aren't we? I am sure your children feel the same way about you.
Happy Easter, Rosemary
One of my favorite poems.... :) It says lovely things about your mom that she gives you poetry as a gift.
I usually don't leave a public comment but just had to say that I love this post (adorable photo) and your blog. You are such a cutie patootie Sabina and one of the sweetest/smartest most interesting girls around. My cell phone is working once more so give me a call for coffee or lunch soon!!
Love,
Melissa
I love that poem - thanks for the reminder.
beautiful :)
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