A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
| The ghost of Mister Poe whispers in my ear about the never-ending tale of his crow. Like a pair of young brothers who know no fear, we share another bottle of fine Bordeaux and fantasies grim as a funeral bier. Mystic visions give way to sweet afterglow. I think I shall savor one more round of cheer, before the dawn comes and he must sadly go. 8 lines Form is a split Strambotto Siciliano: http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/2013Challenge/form20.html#sic |