November 27: For a Friend, Emily Dickinson, "Hope is the Thing with Feathers"

I have a poem tonight for a friend whose daughter is very sick.

Saint Marty is feeling a little powerless tonight.

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by:  Emily Dickinson

'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.