Thirteen years ago on a cold snowy winter's morn in Würzburg, Germany, my sweet little angel girl was born...
What a long road we've traveled since. There are so many words that there are no words -- save I love you baby girl and I am so very proud of you!
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.