I came across a poem the other day by Emily Dickenson. She being one of my favorites, I'm surprised I've never seen this one before. Or maybe I have but it only now has a real significance to me. I've always wanted to name use the name Hope for a girl and my hopes of having that girl (or a boy!) someday make this poem even more special to me:
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.