In shadows deep, where whispers dwell,
The heart of Poe, it tolls a bell.
His love, a raven’s mournful cry,
Beneath the ebon, starless sky.

Lenore, his muse, in death’s embrace,
A haunting beauty, time can’t erase.
Through gothic verse, his soul does yearn,
For love that’s lost, to him returns.

The moonlit nights, the endless dream,
In every line, a silent scream.
His quill, a dagger, sharp and true,
Bleeds love that’s dark, yet pure as dew.

So let us honor, with solemn grace,
The poet’s heart, in timeless space.
For in his words, love’s shadowed glow,
Forever lives, through Edgar Poe.