Here is my contribution to the Halloween spirit…
a poem, by Poe.
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere
The leaves they were withering and sere
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir-
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir,
Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were the days when my heart was volcanic-
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole-
That groan as they roll down mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.
That’s all I got for now… To much more to type on a blackberry.