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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all
Emily Dickinson
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If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain
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That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet
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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn
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If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?

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