To......

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory-

Odors, when sweet violets sicken,

Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

Are heaped for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Para a pessoa que sempre foi e sempre será o anjo que me guarda.