Waiting for Lenore

I have always found Edgar Allan Poe fascinating, and I knew of a fellow waiting for the return of his love, hopelessly.  I wrote this poem for his situation:




                                                                Listening to the wind
                                                                for some sound like Poe"s
                                                                lost Lenore, he heard only
                                                                the intensity of the storm.
                                                                Flickering flames from the
                                                                fireplace produced the
                                                                popping of pine knots.
                                                                Tonight, she'd not be here,
                                                                nor would there be any word
                                                                spoken. The raven of darkness
                                                                caused his eyelids to droop
                                                                as the book fell from his lap.