Where Thou art - that - is Home. - Emily Dickinson

I must go in. The fog is rising.

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 —

My Country is Truth.