In the hallowed halls of Amherst's embrace,
Where Emily wove words, a poetic grace.
In prints and textures, secrets unfold,
A tapestry of tales, a narrative told.
The wallpaper, a parchment of silent song,
Ink-stained echoes where verses belong.
Furniture, faithful scribes in repose,
Imprints of musings where contemplation flows.
Nooks and crannies cradle metaphors sweet,
Whispers of stanzas in each winding street.
Dust particles, celestial dancers above,
Carry the essence of her literary love.
In Dickinson's abode, where quills pirouette,
Textures become sonnets, no room to forget.
Prints tell stories of a soul profound,
A silent symphony in each poetic sound.