"Hope" is the thing with feathers...

by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

“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.

A tiny feather caught in the Rosemary...


Thought I ought to clarify yesterday's selfie, I'm third from the left, as somebody (mentioning no names Berger!! ;) ) thought I might be on the far left of the photo, one of my MALE cousins!! :)