If Hope is the thing with feathers
Then I am its silvery cage,
And I hold all the scribbles and writings
That my Hope has returned to the page.
The singing is soft and devoted,
A quiet, benevolent theme.
It fills up the glorified bird cage
Like a sleepy and somnolent dream.
The tune is a sorrowful silence
That drifts in a limitless grace.
And I know that it never stops singing,
Lest my soul by its wishes erase.
I could never continue without it,
This beautiful, radiant bird.
For it carries my love and emotion
And changes them into a word.