The Thing with Feathers

Hope most certainly has feathers-

and he perches on my soul-

he sings the tunes-and-the words-

which in my heart, never stop at all-

And sweetest- from my Webster- is heard-

and no storm so harsh could ever-

deter my little bird-

who warms my heart-

I’ve heard him in the morn and night-

and at my weakest on my knees-

and always- despite all efforts-

he leaves a crumb- for me.

© Autumn Siders 2016
The Thing with Feathers

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