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.

8 years. Time passes ...