Hope's Crumbs

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops—at all,
But I worry that, perhaps,
I've lost the ears to hear,
Because my tuneless humming
Has turned to anxious fear.

Hope may spring eternal,
But perhaps the well runs dry
When you lose the will to hope for more
Than barely getting by.
I've traded hope for certainty
In a life that's mostly fine:
I've clipped my wings, scorned finer things,
And swallowed my repine.

But I'm longing for something better
Like the passions
I've forced myself to deny,
And ever since I clipped my wings
I've been dreaming about the sky.
If the song has never stopped
But you can't hear it ringing,
Instead of waiting for a musician
You should just start singing.

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