I’ve never really don’t understand poetry. I don’t understand the hidden meanings, and I get lost very quickly. But, as I was reading the following poem about hope by Emily Dickinson, the tears came. I could easily see the bird as a metaphor for hope…
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.
I could do with some hope…
Now playing: The Fray – Be still