Never Short on Hope

Disclaimer: I posted this saccharine poem (no offense to Emily) late last night because I was desperately seeking happy thoughts. It worked last night, but it looks ridiculous to me today. It's so not me. More on yesterday's drama later.

Some days I just need to read a good poem.
Like today, for instance.

Hope is the Thing With Flowers

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~