Hello, Em...
I see that you're still down
From all the hurts that you think
You are unjustly inflicted with…
Poor, immature, darling girl!
Never believing in herself
To see the honest portrayal of life
As she knows it, feels it, and understands it…
Perhaps even suspects it?
Emily Byrd Starr,
You really do surprise me…
Acting so cold towards
The one you love most,
Never telling anyone your
Deepest, darkest feelings, thoughts, and secrets...
Keeping it all inside!
How is it so easily possible
For you to do so
When I can't?
Em dearest,
You gave Teddy his message,
Why didn't you give Perry his
A little sooner?
I still cry very foolishly
At night to think of
Everything that you had gone through…
And most of it was,
I think,
Because of me, Ilse Burnley!
The one you had called your dearest friend…
This yellow-haired wench
Asks humbly for your honest forgiveness
For her complete ignorance,
Friend of my Heart!
For I had never dreamed of
Such consequences in
Our once simple girlish lives…
For without your thrilling
Friendship,
Sweet companionship,
And mysterious artistic nature,
I would still be lost in my
Tattered childhood rags…
Do you still remember them?
I do,
Despite what others may think
By my present outrageous---
They're quite harmless, really---fashions.
Thank you,
Dearest Em,
For understanding me
Better than I understood myself…
Here is a very poor excuse
For writing you a
Emotional poem-epistle…
Which I know isn't good at all…
And you are probably
Laughing at me kindly…
But to hear your sparkling silver
Laughter just once more,
Friend of my Heart!
That would truly
Be worth all my
Ridiculous efforts
And make me forget
Our-mine and yours-
Past pains and hurts…
So, dearest of
Darling Emilys,
Join Perry and me
Together on a
Summer Holiday
In our little
House o' Dreams…
We will be waiting for
You, Lady Emily, and dear Sir Teddy…
And it will be all like
Lost, foolish days of yore
For you and I will
Finally forgive our
Idiotic husbands
For their foolish follies.
With that I'll end this
Insult to your literary senses,
My Dearest Em,
For the baby at my bosom
Cries incessantly…
This little creature
Drives me to utter madness---
Just how can such a cute imp
Produce such loud screams of
Terrifying protest?
The milk is supposed to be good for it,
For goodness's sake!
I'm feeding it so it won't die,
This ungrateful little creature!
It's very tempting, dear Em,
To shut it out of it's misery
And drown it like the many little
Kitties that we heard
About being drowned in
Our beloved little wells…
But let's not think of
Such morbid thoughts!
Wipe that horrified---
And shall I also say murrayfied?---look
Off your face, dearest!
Surely I am not that
Crazy anymore and
Have matured greatly
As you will soon
See when you
Come visit me!
Your Foolish Friend Forever…
For you know that I will always remain
That darling and adorable foolish little girl
That I am at heart,
Ilse Burnley Miller (my initials are IBM, darling! Isn't that hysterical!)
©2002 Amaria H.