I heard a poem once
Perhaps you’ve heard too
“Hope’s the thing with feathers”
But they beat me black and blue

It’s perched upon my soul
Its talons digging in
It sings the worldess tune
That I sometimes wish would end

Sweetest in the gale, perhaps
But the winds whip against my skin
The sorest storm through which it sings
May be the storm within

The chilllest land is my frosted mind
Bitter cold with loss and fear
And the strangest sea seems strangely
To have been filled with my own tears

“Never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me”
But I’ve given all my dignity
To feed hope’s naivety