A quiet room, a final breath,
In shadows deep, he met with Death,
No grand farewell, no parting tears,
Just silent night, and end of fears.

His words once bold, now softly fade,
In echoes of the life he made,
No more the pen, no more the page,
A poet’s soul now leaves the stage.

Yet in the dark, his thoughts remain,
In every line, in every strain,
A testament to all he’s seen,
In simple verse, both stark and keen.

So let us pause, and gently tread,
Upon the paths where he once led,
For though he’s gone, his voice is clear,
In every word, he’s ever near.