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Apr 2015
“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.
Hope only ends with death. While you remain, it remains.
Mike Essig
Written by
Mike Essig  Mechanicsburg, PA
(Mechanicsburg, PA)   
435
     Siranne
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