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 chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity
It asked a crumb of me.
~ By Carol D. Bos ~ I hope it is decades before death parts us But I don’t know what God has in mind I pray that he’ll let us be happy always But I can’t comprehend…
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