Although he has only been dead over one hundred years
He is almost lost to all of us
He had a way of bringing out our worst fears
Some say different but he had a true moral compass
He was the middle of three
His father left and his mother died
He then got a new family
He never had a true guide
From King Lear he may have gotten his name
He did have his burdens to bear
Some he never overcame
His writings had a certain flair
Although he was at first under rated
No one paid him any attention
But it seemed fated
He was seeking redemption
After the loss of his brother
He began to take his life more seriously
He found a lover
He began to write more furiously
His life came to an end at the age of forty
He disappeared mysteriously one September night
To be found a week later unkempt and dirty
Something was not quite right
He was in a state of great distress
Confused and delirious
After four days he showed no progress
His death is still mysterious
There is no sure cause
“Lord, help my poor soul!” he said with his last breath
There is a reason for pause
Because of the many versions of his death
From The Raven to Alone
For writers of so long ago
He truly stood on his own
He was Edgar Allan Poe