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.
Last weekend I travelled to Calais with a group of 6 friends to volunteer and help the refugees in ‘The Jungle’. Hope was one of a number of emotions that I did not expect to feel or encounter in my time there.