Home is so far from home. - Emily Dickinson

The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die.

A soft Sea washed around the House
A Sea of Summer Air
And rose and fell the magic Planks
That sailed without a care — For Captain was the Butterfly
For Helmsman was the Bee
And an entire universe
For the delighted crew.

When Jesus tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is 'acquainted with Grief', we listen, for that also is an Acquaintance of our own.