“Hope” is the thing with laughter
A poem inspired by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with laughter
That starts as a sly grin
And blooms into a snicker.
It grows from there — it can’t help it.
It might become a chortle,
the sound when you try to hide a snort.
Furrowed eyes and a raised finger to lips try to shush you.
But the bonds are broken now, it has wings.
It quickly takes off as a chuckle, then a ha-ha.
Then an open mouth, cover-it-with-your-hand guffaw.
It makes you slap your knee and it ends with a light-hearted sigh.
Savor it and let the good tears dry on your face.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers — (314)
“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 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.
