In the shadows of the night, where dreams do softly weave,
There lies a love so tender, that hearts can scarce believe.
Edgar, with his quill in hand, did pen a tale so rare,
Of passion, loss, and longing, in verses pure and fair.

Beneath the moon’s pale glow, his words would gently flow,
To tell of love’s sweet sorrow, in whispers soft and low.
His soul did ache with yearning, for a love that once was bright,
Now lost within the darkness, of an endless, starless night.

Yet in his heart, a fire burned, with memories so dear,
The ghost of love did linger, forever drawing near.
Through every rhyme and meter, his passion did reveal,
The depth of love unspoken, that time could never heal.

So let us honor Edgar, with each and every line,
For in his words, immortal, his love does ever shine.
A testament to beauty, in sorrow and in pain,
The legacy of Poe’s heart, in poetry remains.