Hoping for him to read this is like reading one of Dickinson’s poem. Hope is the thing like feather, like a bird that could fly everywhere and it is not easy to stop it. Dickinson is comparing hope to bird because it is unstoppable. Hope never fail us and for me it is something that could not be stop, I will still have hope in him.
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.