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kandrews6221
kandrews6221
22.02.2021 • 
English

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

what is the metaphor

and what is the comparison

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