In the quiet hush of evening’s breath,
When shadows dance with ghostly grace,
I ponder Dickinson’s embrace of death,
A tranquil end to life’s relentless chase.

She spoke of death as a gentle friend,
A carriage ride to the eternal shore,
With every line, her thoughts transcend,
Whispering truths of what’s in store.

The stillness of her words conveys,
A peace found in the final rest,
In death, she found a calm array,
A journey to the quietest.

Her verses, woven with serene delight,
Guide us through the twilight’s gleam,
In her poetic, tender night,
Death becomes a cherished dream.