Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in a cat's soul
And sings the tune of tasty birds
And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the cage is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
To keep a kitty warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet never in Extremity,
Could a bird escape from me.

By the cat


An alteration of Emily Dickinson's
“Hope is the Thing With Feathers," 1862.