Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul-
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all

And sweetes- in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bir
that kept so many warm

Ive heard it in the chillest land
and on the strangest sea,
yet-never – in a extremity
Is asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson

Hope is perhaps my favorite poem of all-time. There is something of a bird perched in my soul singing Sara Barellies tune Brave. Encouraging me to push forward and go after what my heart wants.
Everyday I fight off the bad bad putty cat that is the modern world, there is always someone waiting to crush your heart. As if it was there purpose for living.
But I stand up everyday and remind myself. Its my heart, its my dreams and you can’t have it.

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