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

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