Poetic Moments

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 is 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, 

1830 - 1866

***

After being away on holiday,

I felt like coming back to simplicity today

with a short blog entry 

and two black and white images

which both speak to me on this quiet Sunday morning.

The lovely poem is by one of my favourite American poets:

Emily Dickinson