Poem of the Week

Here is a poem that sums up the mood of the day - at least part of it.

Hope by Emily Dickinson

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.

I'm gearing up to a night of tension, and I'm very excited. Dad and I are watching the coverage, and I'm not going to bed until Obama is elected president.