I carry your heart with me/ (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere/ I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done/ by only me is your doing, my darling / I fear / no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want/ no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)/ and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant/ and whatever a sun will always sing is you/ here is the deepest secret nobody knows/ (here is the root of the root and bud of the bud/ and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows/ higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)/ and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart/ I carry you heart (I carry it in my heart).
E E CUMMINGS

The art of losing isn't hard to master;/ so many things seem filled with the intent/ to be lost that their loss is no disaster./ Lose something everydady. Accept the fluster/ of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. / The art of losing isn't hard to master. / Then practice losing farther, losing faster:/ places, and names, and where it was you meant/ to travel. None of these will bring disaster./ I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or/ next-to-last, of three beloved houses went./ The art of losing isn't hard to master./ I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster/ some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent./ I miss them, but is wasn't a disaster./ Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture/ I love) I shan't have lied. It's evidente/ the art of losing's not too hard to master/ though it may look like (write it!) a disaster.
ELIZABETH BISHOP