In the quiet of the afternoon’s embrace,
Where shadows dance upon the wall,
Emily speaks of death’s gentle grace,
A whisper heard in the soul’s call.

Her pen, a vessel of endless night,
Traces paths where silence reigns,
In the corridors of fading light,
She finds the beauty in death’s domains.

A carriage ride, serene and slow,
With immortality sitting near,
Through fields where time no longer flows,
She meets the end without fear.

In solitude, her verses bloom,
An echo of eternity’s breath,
Emily, in her quiet room,
Writes the mysteries of life and death.