John F. McCullagh
For Edgar Allan Poe - Poem by John F. McCullagh
She was careful that she was not seen
There, in the graveyard,
deep in the night.
A single rose in her left hand
A bottle of Cognac in her right.
She knew the path to his grave by heart,
How could it be otherwise?
The two of them had shared one heart,
Now in his tomb the Master lies.
Libation poured upon the stone.
She wets her lips with Hennessey
He, of course, Edgar Allen Poe
She, of Course, his Annabelle Lee
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