In whispered tones of evening’s gentle sigh,
Where shadows stretch and softly blend with night,
Death’s tender hand does brush the weary sky,
Inviting souls to seek eternal light.

The fleeting breath of life, a fragile thread,
Woven through the tapestry of time,
Yet in the quiet, where the light has fled,
Awaits a realm where souls in peace will rhyme.

Oh, gentle night that cradles weary hearts,
In your embrace, the fears of life do cease,
For though the world from mortal gaze departs,
In death’s soft shroud, we find our longed-for peace.

Thus, let us not with fear of darkness grieve,
For in its depths, a tender hope we weave.