In the dim light of the evening’s sigh,
Where shadows dance and spirits cry,
Lies the tale of a poet’s flight,
Into the embrace of eternal night.

With quill in hand and heart so torn,
He penned the pain of souls forlorn,
Each word a whisper from the abyss,
Each verse a tale of sorrow’s kiss.

The raven’s call, a haunting tone,
Echoes through halls now overgrown,
Remnants of a mind so vast,
Lost to time, yet shadows cast.

Oh, Poe, your final breath did weave,
A tapestry of grief and leave,
A legacy of darkened lore,
That whispers still forevermore.