This landscape with its somber skies
Must have fallen in love
With a story by Edgar Allan Poe.
One of its birch trees could be his Eleonora,
And the other, further on, Ligeia.
Life is a dream within a dream,
Whisper the fallen leaves under our feet.
The old house, softly lit from within
By its copper pots and mirrors,
Seems even more abandoned this evening.
What if I were to knock on its door?
Keeping in mind, as I push it open
And enter cautiously, that for Poe
Beauty could be the cause of sudden death.