The hope is that a being plumed
rests on the soul,
sings the tune without words and never stops.
The breeze will spread harmony,
violent storm and just might confound the bird
that has comforted many.
rests on the soul,
sings the tune without words and never stops.
The breeze will spread harmony,
violent storm and just might confound the bird
that has comforted many.
I heard in the earth colder
and strange seas.
yet not in need
never asked a crumb - of me.
Emily Dickinson