| | "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 stangest Sea-
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb- of Me!
--Emily Dickinson
Peut-etre,we have been overlooking the little Bird in our heart, who has been with us all the time and warming us with its little soft wings. Even in the very depths of despair and desperation, even we felt abandoned by the harsh realities, even the dim light seemed to expire in the dark, it left us never and shed light on our way onwards.That is Hope, like a Bird, fragile if you yourself give up from the start, yet powerful if you trust it and persist on. How I regret the passing days in vain and nothing could be traced back, yet could I still hold the belief that eternity does exist in a second, an hour...Shall I catch up on Time's last coach and have a wonderful voyage before it is too late? Tell me not, it is too late...Pas a Pas, on va loin. Please stay with me, little Bird, always the moments, always the evanescent peace, always the dream in dream...
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