Poet of the month:Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers


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.


hey this is karlie;
i LOVE this poem. The bird is beautiful and its song. And yet the bird asked for nothing for its music. i hope ya'll like this poem as much as me :):)