Poetry Friday -- Hope

photo by treehouse1977

"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.

We were working in the land lab after school when a goldfinch, already in drab fall and winter colors, flew between us and smacked into a classroom window, falling to the stones below.

I scooped up the blinking, dazed little bird, and as I held it, I thought of the thing with feathers in Emily Dickinson's poem. After resting in a quiet spot for a few minutes, the goldfinch flew off, no worse for wear.

The thing with feathers perching in my soul has hit a wall this week, too. But true as it was for the bird in the land lab, it has only taken the kindness of one gentle hand to restore hope to its perch in my soul.

The round up today is at Big A little a.