In the hush of twilight’s end,
Where shadows softly blend,
Lies the silence, deep and vast,
A realm where time has passed.

Dickinson’s whisper in the wind,
A voice where echoes rescind,
Tells of journeys through the night,
To a land devoid of light.

The chill of death’s embrace,
A gentle touch upon the face,
Guides us to the endless sleep,
Where memories forever we keep.

Yet in the stillness, we find peace,
A solace where heartaches cease,
For in the silence, death’s sweet call,
We find an eternal, restful fall.