Pet Memorials

Hope is the thing with Feathers

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by Emily Dickenson

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.

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow.
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain.
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush.
I am in the graceful rush
of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom.
I am in a quiet room.
I am the birds that sing.
I am in each gentle thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die.