“Hope” is the thing with feathers
--- EMILY DICKINSON
“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.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314
the little Bird
watching at the kitchen window
we saw a spring sleek crow land
on the rotting birdhouse
where sparrows yearly build
their nests
our new cat shivered and
stuttered on the sill
with electricity
as the big black bird
levered a curved bill
into the crack
at the back of the house
to shred the nest
spray it over
the new lawn
the crow cawed and
cracked massive wings
before plunging
again
into the tender bed
silent
we watched an egg
slip down its gullet
then another
while little brown birds
fluttered and chirped
on the wires
in the cedars
along the fence
helpless
I think I said
something like
the circle of life
is brutal
before I
turned away
to finish
making lunch
Suggested soundtrack: Wagner.