Edgar Allens Crow

All outside is white as snow,
except for Edgar Allen's crow.
Quietly and so serene,
till Edgar Allen's crow does scream.
Waking me from peaceful dreams,
to hatred in the night.
Now I know all Edgar Allen's,
madness in his write.
Stalkingly he walks the window,
pecking on the vane.
Now I know why Edgar Allen,
wrote of things insane.
Tis not a raven in my head,
that drives me to these words.
But this blackened beast which will not cease,
hes such a noisy bird.
I scream and shoo but he don't move,
seems fear he does not know.
Hes not a the raven that I think,
hes Edgar Allen's Crow.

by Ken Bennight

Other poems of BENNIGHT (396)

Comments (4)

Really fascinating, I'll have to read something by E.A. Poe now :)
Well, crows are a menace too many a times.. Thanks for sharing Ken.. Witty and nice...
This is great. wondurfully twisted to perfection
you've got to love the insanity that leads you to identifying with Poe...you have one of the best imaginations I've come across...great work.