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12.11.08

Feed the birds


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.

6 comments:

Barb said...

As a child I remember, my "Daddy" would always make sure the birds were fed and I have tried to carry on his loving tradition.

Tea Time With Melody said...

I love this picture.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

One of my favorite poems.

Marja said...

Great poem and picture

GrandmaK said...

What a beautiful illustration of hope. Really lovely! (I'm "hearing" Feed the Birds, from "May Poppins" even as we speak!) Have a Grand Day! Cathy

sojourner said...

Feeding birds and feeding hopes - I like that.