Letter to fav poet Emily

Dear Emily, In the quiet of Amherst, your words still bloom, "Hope is the thing with feathers," you penned in your room. Your verses, like the breeze, traverse time's vast sea, Yet, dear Emily, a suggestion from me. Your solitude crafted such delicate lines, But what if your thoughts had danced in the pines? Among the living, where laughter is heard, Would your quill have captured a different word? "Tell all the truth but tell it slant," you advised, Yet in life's full extent, what truths might arise? Step out, dear poet, from your reclusive shade, And let the world's full spectrum in your ink cascade. "I dwell in Possibility," you wrote with such grace, But what if possibility had a different face? Beyond the confines of your homely retreat, Could your verses have found a more vibrant beat? Dear Emily, your legacy, tender and grand, Forever will echo through time's shifting sand. Yet, I wonder, if you had fulfilled the world's hue, What new shades of truth might have blossomed through you?