Work of art Wednesday

[rose_in_shadow]

Yeah, so I've only done this once, but whatever. I can't remember a once-a-week thing apparently.

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.

by Emily Dickinson

No commentary necessary on this one I think. Just read and enjoy.