Unlike Emily, I am not getting some
I sit in the dark typing poems no guy would read
As I live in the same house for over forty years
It's terrible to be satisifed
But I love my home
Though, I feel trapped
Like Emily the solitude is my best friend
I write my best work in peace
And at night, the words reveal themselves quietly
Destroying my sleep
As I search for a note book and pen in the darkness
Of my beadroom
They slip away like atoms dying in space
Until I captured them on the page
Hoping that one day, love could released