I've never been big on poetry- except when my English teacher in ninth grade had us study the music of Simon and Garfunkel! I am however, big on hope- and the poem below pictures it as thoughfully and beautifully as possible.
Hope is the thing with feathers- that perches on 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.
by Emily Dickinson
(found in Keeping Hope Alive by Lewis Smedes