Son of a Champion

“

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.

”

—

Emily Dickinson (via glovecompartment)

I love Dickenson. She seems like someone I could have just curled up with and watched a movie. Me an Emily. Shoot, now you got me daydreaming.