She sat by the brook as the seagull flew,
Of what she would write, I think she knew.
Gazing into the distance at the power of the world,
Pen in hand, all her thoughts unfurled.
A story of passion, love and need,
In this great world she would plant a seed.
Of joy and hate, madness and lust,
Love and happiness, deceit and trust.
She wrote for hours as her heart did beat,
Writing Cathy’s destiny until it was complete.
She was much like Cathy, living deep in the moors,
Looking for love and finding closed doors.
Cathy was never to stand alone,
With the great Heathcliff she would find her home.
Emily’s wish might have been for the same,
For in her words we can feel her pain.
Suddenly taken away by death,
Deep creation in dying escaped with her breath.
She lives on forever as she speaks through her book,
Emily and Cathy sitting by a brook.