Lang’s song about love

I wake with an earworm lying on my pillow

singing, “Emily’s poems are gathering dust…”

Silently, I repeat Ben Franklin’s,

“The early bird gets the worm.”

I have letters to write, events to plan

and

promises to keep.

I tell myself to leave her poems alone,

face the tasks at hand.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll pull Emily down from her shelf.

set her free to love, again