"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.
picaet:

Overcast beach days by Katie.Craven on Flickr.
noctuo:

a te, vecchia Venezia fradicia di romanticismo by Samuela Lepori on Flickr.
20aliens:

blu gum
cos-micas:

some scenery from an 11 hour bus ride I could never get sick of this. 
progress