December 10: "Hope" is the thing with feathers—

a poem by Emily Dickinson on her 190th birthday

This is the obvious choice, I suppose, but it’s obvious for a reason

“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 strang…