PRECARIOUS BIRDS

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 stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I’ve heard it in the chillest land,And on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked […]