Tri Duong

 254

"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.
12 Responses
  1. The Reviever Says:

    Very good and deep poem.


  2. LD Says:

    this made me think :)



  3. tortacular Says:

    Damn I used to know how to do this...


  4. i read it 3 times to fully understand it, nice poem keep up the creativity


  5. swizzfor Says:

    pretty deep stuff

    following and supporting



  6. Bernard Says:

    And sings the tune without the words <3


  7. Flav Says:

    that is very beautiful! Never knew emily dickinson had such a simple mozartesque style.


  8. Willow Says:

    I haven't read Dickinson in years.


  9. Muhunty Says:

    this is the emo pics:))


  10. Nigma Says:

    i love your blog's layout


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