“Hope" is the thing with feathers—
by Emily Dickins
Chickens are things with feathers
that perch inside the pen
and ruffle so enticingly—
And sweetest are the eggs they lay--
if Mom gives them to me
I can be happy all the day
and hope for more or plead--
If only I were free to try--
I’d love to catch a hen--
I’d pace for hours around the pen
with hope of getting in.
You can find the original poem here.