In Amherst’s quiet halls she dwelt,
Her world within, a realm unfelt.
With pen in hand, she wove her dreams,
Crafting verses in silent streams.
The garden’s bloom, a muse so near,
Each petal whispered, crystal clear.
In solitude, her thoughts took flight,
A universe of day and night.
The lettered lines she gently spun,
In shadows hid, from everyone.
Yet in her words, a voice so bold,
A tale of heart and soul retold.
Emily, in her quiet grace,
Found freedom in her sacred space.
A legacy of whispered lore,
Her spirit lives forevermore.