Los que son amados no pueden morir, Porque amor significa inmortalidad. - Emily Dickinson

The past is such a curious creature,
To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Or a disgrace.

Unarmed if any meet her,
I charge them, fly !
Her rusty ammunition
Might yet reply !

They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.

My life had stood — a Loaded Gun — In Corners — till a Day
The Owner passed — identified — And carried Me away — And now We roam in Sovereign Woods — And now We hunt the Doe — And every time I speak for Him — The Mountains straight reply — And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow — It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through — And when at Night — Our good Day done — I guard My Master's Head — 'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow — to have shared — To foe of His — I'm deadly foe — None stir the second time — On whom I lay a Yellow Eye — Or an emphatic Thumb — Though I than He — may longer live
He longer must — than I — For I have but the power to kill,
Without — the power to die —