Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Being a mother to two beautiful girls (ages newborn and three), survivor of infertility, dealing with post-partum depression.
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.
1 comment:
Makes me wonder about the freak who published under his real name on my blog!
Post a Comment