Some poems were written by a poet named Poe,
Of ravens, bells, and lost Lenores.
His mind scribbled out some macabre woe,
Leaving readers check behind their doors.

In “The Raven” he played a trick,
Quoth the bird, “Nevermore” to say.
He whispered secrets, dark and slick,
And wove a tale both grim and gray.

“The Bells,” a haunting serenade,
He tolled the bells of life’s decay.
With “Annabel Lee,” a love parade,
He marched us to the grave’s cold way.

Oh, Poe - the poet and his poems of hell!
His heart, a master of the night,
His words, a wicked, wondrous spell.
His mental state - not quite alright.