Never More

This is a response to the Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads challenge. What a delight...an early fright.

(as an old friend says of Poe, rhyme is not a crime!)













Never More

In the thin place,
where Poe was lain,
between the naming stones,
we propped his book
for a photo opp,
beside the final tomb.
Then the rain fell hard;
its needles sharp
stitched us 'tween
there and here,
in the thin green place
where Edgar lay
beneath the sodden bier.
We could not move,
we could not run,
then came a fearsome sound,
and the lightning hit,
and the curtain ripped,
and the book fell
through the ground.
Then just as quick,
the sun was back
and all was as before,
except that bones now
trace his words
and whisper, "Nevermore."