I had an echo of a memory of a line in my mind and realized it was emily dickensons hope is a thing with feathers. You could change out his name with "hope." His son as well. I am going to light a candle for Pa Trehub. Ive never said his name on here or the family name, but he burned bright and beautiful, wrote The Cognitive Brain, and was a dedicated family man and professor emeritis at his university, a true kindred spirit I never actually met.
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.