An Emily Dickinson Poem

Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
'Tis easiest to lie
And every Grass that plays outside
Is sorry, some, for me.

Where I am not afraid to go
I may confide my Flower --
Who was not Enemy of Me
Will gentle be, to Her.

Nor separate, Herself and Me
By Distances become --
A single Bloom we constitute
Departed, or at Home --