Enchanted by the aura of the past.
Daylight muted, all we ask.
Ghostly figures from memory evoked
Are present with us, spirits provoked.
Receding echoes of the past resound anew,
Allan Poe hovers just out of view.
Light-hearted voices talk of dark matters,
Lingering listing gravestones lay scattered.
Antient forms weave words into the air,
Nodding phantoms that whisper of despair.
Pensive sorrow is the ever-song
On your mortal lips. You limped along,
Entranc'd by fragile beauty's memory.