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“The Poe Toaster by Stewart Stafford They call me The Poe Toaster, A sixty-year mourner, no boaster, With roses and cognac, I paid homage, To gothic Quarles’ eternal foggage. Some call me ghoul, stalker, graver, Obsessed fan, tombstone trader, Let him sleep unbroken, still his ghost, Tomahawk, overdue a tribute toast. Three roses; in-law, Eddy and wife, Cognac, exorbitant luxury in life, Relax, for I was kind, my friend, Pouring amontillado until the end. Why I stopped, if I'm woman or man, Are mysteries for C. Auguste Dupin, Shipwrecked on Night’s Plutonian shore, Allied with the silken darkness of yore. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.” — Stewart Stafford
The Poe Toaster by Stewart Stafford
They call me The Poe Toaster,
A sixty-year mourner, no boaster,
With roses and cognac, I paid homage,
To gothic Quarles’ eternal foggage.
Some call me ghoul, stalker, graver,
Obsessed fan, tombstone trader,
Let him sleep unbroken, still his ghost,
Tomahawk, overdue a tribute toast.
Three roses; in-law, Eddy and wife,
Cognac, exorbitant luxury in life,
Relax, for I was kind, my friend,
Pouring amontillado until the end.
Why I stopped, if I'm woman or man,
Are mysteries for C. Auguste Dupin,
Shipwrecked on Night’s Plutonian shore,
Allied with the silken darkness of yore.
© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.