Hope

I was thinking of Pandora's box and the small butterfly called hope - its impact disproportionate to its size.
I thought then of this poem

Hope is the Thing with Feathers


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
Emily Dickinson