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It's a short poem but well worth reading past its first catch-phrase line. I haven't done so since college and that was when Emily Dickinson may well have been alive. 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 … Continue Reading »