In the quiet halls where shadows drift,
Her whispers linger, soft and swift.
A poet’s soul, forever free,
In verses deep, her legacy.
The world she left, a canvas bare,
Her words, a brushstroke of despair.
A life unseen, a heart concealed,
Yet in her lines, the truth revealed.
The clock struck still, the moment paused,
As nature wept for her great cause.
The silence grew, the darkness spread,
But in her poems, sheâs never dead.
Emily’s death, a fleeting breath,
Yet timeless is her dance with death.
Through every line, her voice remains,
A haunting echo in refrains.