In Poe's dark forbidding night
When there can be no sight
Of the dangers lurking near
Of which there is much to fear.
But in the inner peace of Poe
With the scratch of pen, his words flow
Capturing his tortured thoughts in kind
A parable, to escape the world that binds,
To set him free to dream
Of that which is not as seem.
As he awaits the judgement day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem