Lakeland Dipper 61

Bludgeoned Encouraged myself back in the lake when I got home from work. 

Had a conversation about this poem at work today where hope seemed elusive and very fragile.

'Hope' is the thing with feathers - Emily Dickenson

“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.