In honor of those of you waiting to hear...
A poem from my muse, Emily Dickinson, to lift your spirits in these last few weeks:
“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 chilliest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity -
It asked a crumb - of Me.
Whose words give you comfort? Share something that eases your stress level...