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.

Emily Dickinson(1830-1886)

jaja, nog eens het roodborstje
ik kon deze foto's toch moeilijk achter houden hé
hij moest daar maar niet zo schattig zitten