HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And the 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.
A/N: I wanted to add a few real poems for you guys so you don't get tired of mine.
YOU ARE READING
MY BRAIN (poetry)
PoetryAs a person who overthinks all the time my mind flows with my most precious thoughts, always seeking to create everlasting essays that shape me. There's beauty in honesty, and that's what I want to bring to every piece. I read each of my thoughts as...
