There was a young boy named Edward Fitzroy,
slim, strange, the world was his toy.
At the blooming young age of eleven, if that,
everyone knew of the Vincent Price copy-cat!
Edward lived at home with his father, mother and cat
though he believed his mother a ghoul, his father a bat!
His mother, concerned, bought him "The Tales of Bill",
though Edward preferred to read "The House on Haunted Hill"!
Edward wasn't 'normal', it's easy to see,
he'd dress in black cloaks, and his mother would scream.
He'd be sent to his room for such awful deeds,
so he'd sit and ponder on life, and all of its schemes.
He would paint Van Gogh, and write a story or two,
he'd sit in the hallway, the tunnel of doom.
Sometimes he would recite a poem he had read,
mostly something gruesome, mostly something dead.
He opened his book, Allan Poe at that,
and read "The Raven", how marvelous, how grand.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,"
Edward stopped and began to cry, this line had been taken right out of his mind!
Edward was shocked, how dare this be true,
his favourite author stole his poem, oh, how rude!
So Edward set the task of finding Poe and his bones,
and punishing him for the theft of his throne.
He left a note for his mother, "farewell, my dear"
Packed his bags, and head out the rear
Edward knew his bearings, left right straight left,
and found Poe's grave, it was awfully dead.
"Oh Mr. Poe, I Know it is true,
you've stolen my poem, and I feel dreadfully blue".
All of a sudden a vigorous gust blew about;
Edward was frightened and began to shout.
"Help me please, a fool I must be,
this is no place for a child to be!"
A hand reached over him, covered his mouth,
Edward turned to find Edgar Allan Poe out and about!
Edward stood stiff, and dream it must be
his idol was alive, how red his cheeks would be.
"Dear small child, explain this to me,
how could I have stolen it, I wrote it in 1843!"
Edward agreed, he understood how it must be,
and Poe stayed for a while to discuss the world and the sea.
"I must be leaving, I can't stay around,
if I am spotted, you will be drowned!"
With a parting farewell Edward waved goodbye,
then headed back home with a tear in his eye.
"Mother, mother, you'll never agree,
I conjured Mr. Poe, we even shared tea!"
Edward, again, was sent to his room,
and here sat wondering what to do.
He took out some brushes, and then some paint,
and painted a picture of his idol, his saint.
As Edward grew old he remained the same,
with friends disappearing it was dearly a pain.
Though Edward ignored them, his head held high,
"I have met the great, and with that, goodbye! "