Wednesday, October 11, 2006


is a 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 coldest land

and on the strongest sea

yet never in extremity

did it ask a crumb from me


Korkuss said...

Star dust... tickle me

Romeo Tanghal Sr. said...

Your bird of hope must be something. nothing could brake it's will. No matter what.