[Lonesome in Massachussets]

“XXXX” 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.

Emily Dickinson

[Lonesome in Massachussets]

Unrelated random post (own work)

[Apple Pan Dowdy]

I tried to think of a good image to post of XXXX, but your Dickinson poem is perfect.