Saturday

Hello Little Spring Bird


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.

Emily Dickinson, excerpt from "Life"



3 comments:

Bri said...

I love the colors in that photograph!!

Lady Grey said...

thank you ; )

Anonymous said...

hi Vanessa, here i am out of the boonies of pigeon hill into the big town of high-speed bedford enjoying my friday morning with you on
heyladygrey...thanks for all you bring

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