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Ode of the Poe Toaster

It was many and many a year ago
as I knelt down on my knee
three roses and cognac were left to bestow
an honor to you from me,
and these gifts were bought with no other thought
than to be placed here just by me.

I am your fan and they are your fans
as I'd kneel down on my knee
but we knew what we knew was more than we knew--
in this honor to you from me;
a gift of love that each year would show
an honor to you from me.

But as seasons would pass while we'd go on
and I knelt down on one knee,
a thief crept into this aging hand
and crippled this gift from me.
Your roses were clipped and they emptied your flask
and bore them away from me
as I wept upon my knees.

The spectators, now unhappy to witness
no kneeling on my knees
Yes! -- roses and cognac, (as all of them knew,
this honor to you from me)
were stolen from me on your birthday night
chilling and killing this honor from me.

But my heart is stronger by far than these gifts
or those who were witness to see,
or many far wiser than me--
and never the reasons from long ago
who kept me from my knee
could ever dissever my gift from the heart
that was placed there just by me.

For the year never passes without thinking of you
and the honor placed down on one knee
and the words never shined as they shined from your heart
while I read you to those at my knee.
And so, every birthday that honors your name
and the words that would bring you your fame
at your grave is where my soul will be
to place gifts there just from me.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Sincere apologies to Edgar Allen Poe and his beautiful poem, Annabel Lee Information on The Poe Toaster can be found here:
Editing stage: 


I love sincere apologetic poems, if one is privy to its origin it's quite bountiful. Thanks for the story. Famous dead people have little chance of being buried without fanfare, so to speak, these days. I just happened to look at this youtube yesterday; one of my heroes, Harry Chapin...the balladeer.

I did have fun with this.

And - Harry Chapin - indeed. Such a loss for us.
A balladeer indeed.

Thank you for popping by.


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author comment

Am I too biased to comment on this poem? Perhaps. He was one of earliest favorites in childhood and I scared the beejeebers out of myself many a late night when eight or nine. Nevertheless...
I enjoyed the repetitious lines and the subtly changing meter (almost conversational). I wish I knew how to copy and paste a line from the poem. It would make things much easier, but I will learn.
"The spectators, now unhappy to witness"
This is the only line whose meter didn't work for me. I tried it a number of different ways, but it always managed to trip me up.
Otherwise, it is a right honorable poem and a worthy poet to honor.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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I will look at this a bit more and see what I can do to help the meter along in that line.
I think we all grew up with Poe and his horrors - and oh what fun.
Thank you for taking a moment to stop by, read, and leave your thoughts.
Most appreciated.


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~"It's ALL about the Poetry~

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author comment
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