“Every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” -Charles Dickens-

Sunday, November 11, 2012


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 chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-Emily Dickinson-

Beads. Quail wishbone, Crested pigeon feathers and a few Rainbow Lorikeet feathers, First verse of "HOPE" by Emily Dickinson


deanna7trees said...

such a beautiful feather. love the poem but oh so small...hard to read with my eyes.

Nancy said...

So beautiful and timely.