In the chill of night, where silence dwells,
A shadow whispers tales untold,
Beneath the moon’s pale, ghostly glow,
Lies the soul of Edgar, cold.
Through the corridors of time’s embrace,
Echoes of his verses roam,
Haunting dreams with spectral grace,
In the heart of his eternal home.
The raven’s call, a solemn hymn,
Weaves through the midnight air,
Mourning softly, somber and grim,
For the poet in his lair.
Yet in the stillness, hope does gleam,
In every word he left behind,
A legacy of endless dream,
Whispering through the corridors of the mind.