I sense your presence, through the draught that entered in the night.
The rain passed onto the gleam of the morning sun of the window sill.
The chirm of birds as they roosted, on a perch glistened by the light.
So perth they chimed, and they would kittle one, into a soothing lull.
They rummage upon the soil, and afterwards to glean the fallen twigs.
And there beyond the hillock, is where we frolicked in merriment.
Under the ease of our hearts, we sauntered upon the cliffs and crags.
We roamed like rovers, on the edge of the earth without impediment.
Within the glint of the brindled rainbow, that permeated onto the sea.
Until the distant lighthouse, that once glowed like an eternal flame.
Near the wharf we rowed upon a wherry, and onto the brine with glee.
But so whisk was this to be wrested, and it would never be the same.
Soon my glee would turn to woe, and my sheen to umbrage.
As her unwonted departure, would leave me gloomy and sad.
Her memory burnished, and her words of goodbye began to singe.
They would raddle and intertwine, blight me and drive me mad.
I was strayed in such feckless ubiquity, and an ocean away.
My tears would overflood, and my heart would come to ache.
Through my dwale I know all I want, is to be with her again one day.
Whilom I was her swain, but now this flame is for others to slake.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 February 1970-)
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