Hope, is the thing with feathers.

Something I cannot live without.

I cannot live without 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.

Hope, is indeed, the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, 

its beautiful, fearless, and is never depressed. 

Hope is shown in the hardest of times, in the oddest of places, 

but only if we need it.