Aviva Maxon ’24
Staff Writer
Soul words, and the warm perches-
Sings the sweetest and never asked –
Stops extremity-
Must be kept
“Hope” the strangest little Gale-
Feathers in tune with the chillest Sea-
Sore on the land, heard in the storm
That Bird, that abash so many,
I’ve never without a crumb, -at all-
And yet,
Heard it in me.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
* This poem is a rearrangement of Emily Dickinson’s ‘“Hope’ is the thing with feathers”
Image Source: Denise Hopkins Fine Art
