It could have been the champagne
Or a trick of the light
Or his pain
In the weird and misty night...
Dressed to the nines
For Halloween of '25,
Arrow collar, Chesterfield lit,
And lonely--more than a little bit.
On Halloween of '24
He'd seen her standing near the door;
The perfect flapper
The lovely Lenore.
Had he been a raven, in his tails and top hat?
If he had, she didn't seem bothered by that.
Outside by the fountain, he'd kissed her, swift--
She'd leant close and whispered, "No...like this..."
There'd been dances and kisses and smuggled gin,
Then his Packard in the drive and Lenore getting in...
An Autumn rain began as he started the car,
And the drops on the road were like scattered stars.
There was his smile and her laughter--
A cloche hat on her head;
A careless black cat, a swerve,
Then one of them dead.
Now it is Halloween of '25...
Outside by the fountain, tears in his eyes;
The night, his tails, and mood are black--
No silly wishful penny can bring her back.
But wait, shimmering on the surface, a face!
He gasps and staggers back a pace,
Then with a cry, he leans in close,
And feels a sudden, strange repose.
I can only tell you this:
They say he saw her perfect lips;
The fountain held some pennies, no more,
But he drowned to return to his lost Lenore!
My apologies to E.A. Poe. Happy Halloween!
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