"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.
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2 comments:
Very thoughtfull concluding lines although some parts seem to me debatable.nevertheless I enjoyed reading it.
its short n sweet... i appreciate ur perception of "Hope"..though i concede dat i cudnt understand the essence of the last 2 lines... so i'll appreciate more if u cud send me the annotations to these so dat i can enjoy it fully....
kudos brother.....keep writing
Mr Rancorous
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