No Power In The Verse Can Stop Me NaPoWriMo 2025

Hope’ is the thing with feathers,
And while perching in my soul
It glides from tree to tree,
It is not speedy as the peregrine 
Nor focussed as the owl
But still, steadily, it flies towards its goal
Hope is the thing that sings a tune 
Without words
The thing we cling to to raise up 
And out of the woods
And maybe, sometimes, soar.