Here, Where the Daisies Fit My Head
by Emily Dickinson

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 —