I'm suddenly very interested in poems and I've been reading a lot of them lately. Kevin, from Toronto, wrote to me as he shares my love of poems in a "fairy tale getup". He also advised me to read Emily Dickinson. I've never read anything by her, other than was fed to us in school, but I'm really starting to appreciate her.
Here are the first two stanzas of Dickinson's poem 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.
For some reason those lines spoke to me. Perhaps it's because hope is really the thing that keeps me warm ;-)