Gravedigger Poe Poem by Thor Fabian Pettersen

In the stark of the night,
By the lantern's weak glow,
Through the graves where the shadows dare not to go,
Wanders lonely Poe, gravedigger so sly,
Under the watchful gaze of the moon in the sky.

His spade in his hand, his eyes hard and bright,
He whistles a tune to the bats in the night.
A melody eerie, strange notes that pursue,
A dirge for the dead, a hymn for the blue.

His breath fumes the air, a cold winter's fray,
With whispers of death and putrid decay,
As he delves the earth, where the departed lay,
His task undeterred by the spectral ballet.

Yet in his dark soul, where nightmares hold sway,
The ghouls gnaw and nibble, in glee as they flay,
A grim dance of shadows, an endless buffet,
Yet Poe stands undaunted, as if in broad day.

For in his heart, beyond death's dismay,
The melody sings, in a peculiar way,
Of joy, of glee, and mischievous play,
Of things that thrive in the rot and the clay.

...

In the stark of the night,
In the full of the moon,
Goes gravedigger Poe (they say)
And whistles a tune.
His breath fumes the air
With death's somber scent;
And, at his grim soul,
The ghouls eat away!
And they lament!
But in his heart
The melody sings
Of gay and gleeful,
Unbelievable things.