“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.”

-Emily Dickinson.

Hope

An owl so elegantly sits here,
On the branch of any mango tree,
It so silently sits sans any fear,
On the three mango trees we have,
An owl so wisely perches there.