“Hope” is the thing with feathers-

That perches on 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-

But- never-in Extremity,

It asked a crumb- of me.

-Emily Dickinson

Right?  That’s a nice thing to recite on a sunny morning when you’re about to start your period.  Isn’t it?

Hey, p.s. I hate the automatic double-space WordPress does.  That poem is supposed to be single-spaced but I do not intend to waste my whole morning making that happen.  Blurg.


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