Robert Fulton Laird

Emily

Oh Emily, long gone, but missed
lonely yes, but if here, kissed
our poetry, alike so much
through it nightly we do touch

Oh Emily, misunderstood
yet, we mean only good
controlled beyond our means
projecting timeless inner scenes

Oh Emily, will I be like you
reborn on pages new
in one hundred thirty years
as pains, my writing clears

Oh Emily, life comes close, but not
as I feel spiritually we have got
I've often wondered why I write
since youth, like you did late at night

Oh Emily, are we one -
with your book open to the sun
absorbed in self, yet all
forgetting my bike, your doll?

Oh Emily Dickinson
you cared not much for many men
danced feverishly alone
with quill in hand till grown

Oh Emily, writing ‘til flame dim
"I envy Light—that wakes Him"
I've been there you know
where words can't easily go

Oh Emily, I beckon you
are you close by like few
who've touched my heart so deep
that I fear not, no sleep?

Oh Emily, I must now go -
where? You more than well know
could it be you then, beckoning me
to close my eyes and sleep, to see?

Oh Emily, we're much the same
'tis why tonight, I call your name
for no one living writes like me
or you, like us, our poetry.