In Memory of Emily

In Memory of Emily box cover

Way down back in the dilapidated shed

Away from the prying eyes of ugly old Ned

She hid her book – amid the dust and dirt,

She guarded her secrets of mistrust and hurt.

The palest of sunrays came every morn

Through an old crooked paling – the ray was drawn

Into the shed – but just stopped short of the nook

It would just stop short of exposing her book.

Each night her old hand disappeared in the dust

As she reached in the dark  –  to write was a must.

As she wrote her sad words  –  her touch was to light

Each letter flew off upon wings of a sprite.

Her beloved book held but eight precious pages,

Yet for forty long years she wrote through her stages

And only her tear drops fell onto the page

Releasing her suffering from within its cage.

As she wrote her sadness she never asked why

The first page stayed blank – except for an ‘ I ‘.

She only knew as she reached into the dust

For her own sanity – to write – was a must.

randomrose ©

In Memory of Emily book in box

In Memory of Emily inside box cover Emily book & box


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.


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