The Church of POE laid in despairing darkness yet chimes could be heard ringing off in the silence of this historic Night; Be Yee aware of the cold good friend you travel without a warming coat and your shoes are soulless there was little Light!
I can see you not Sir, just as well spoke the talking shadow I might well scare you by my dress but Sir I have no Fear; By the shifting winds he identified himself as I am a traveler and very low on funds I call myself Debbor Punn who be your Sir, Perhaps my Peer!
Not so good Sir, now he spoke in whispers the cold sweeping winds shot over the Edgar doorway then this spiraling jaded light broke the Blackness; Caught again on the freezing stone steps he yelled and your name Sir, well Sir I am just a ghost call me Allen, again a surging arch of cascading colors of Alienness!
Just as good Debbor became accustomed to the coloring spectrum it grew dim before each foot a silver slipper laid in bright ; Dust in the form of new sprinkling snow filled the air still the shadow spoke your life has been hard Debbor Punn would you like to hear about Mine!
Poets he spoke have a place in all our history we write about life and give purpose some find emptiness not so Us; Show it for what it is a heart that we carry from place to place always we need answers as on this night Punn you find me faceless but we Must!
Begin with peace Edgar, true but not all can find it its like a warming Summer day it must pass true he said then comes the dread of a freezing Winter Storm; When the storm passes we feel relieved a burden named fear has been removed, now he turned on the stone walk a new Chesterfield coat hung on the Allen door he grew Warm!
In came a drunk say fellow who you been talking to, why the ghost of Poe, it was then he stuck his hand in the overcoat pocket a name came out wrapped in Money; Winds tore in vigor at Debbor Punn and the drunk, boy nice coat yes he gave me it and these Ermine lined slippers, sure and I am the fairy Bunney!
Could be what's your name good Sir, the drunk looked at Debbor Punn said (Bud) Franklin and disappeared Debbor exclaimed boy does he need Weaning; Would you say goodbye Mr. Poe into the dawns first light he stepped in a flaming silhouette he shot by Mr. Punn with "This Day Called Christmas Doth Have Meaning"!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem