Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches on the soul,
And sings the song 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 keeps so many warm.
Ive heard it in the chillestd land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-- Emily Dickinson

To Mom, On her Special Day

Preheat oven to 87o on June day,
Start with one airplane to Egypt.
Add a pinch of dry air,
And one hundred thousand dollars to spend,
A half-cup of brown sand,
One bucket of pictures and love,
One mother,
Two children.
Mix together calmly
With a sprinkle if laughter,
And a dash of ever-loving happiness.
Serve in a bowl of amazement.
- Jillian Zhu