I’ve been a Edgar Allan Poe fan for most of my life.

Now when I say that, I mean I’m a fan of Poe’s prose. I don’t do poetry unless forced. Sorry. Just the way I am.

This isn’t to say I haven’t read any poems by Poe. The Raven is, without a doubt, a mandatory read for the Horror fan. The awesome Haunted Palace is located square in the middle of Fall of the House of Usher, and that’s hard to pass up. So I will drop my prejudice against the form from time to time. As a rule I don’t.

Today one of the people I followed posted Annabel Lee, and, being in a charitable mood, I read it.

That’s a creepy little poem.

It’s not very original to Poe. Guy loses love of his life and goes nuts. Doesn’t even need a black bird to do it.

It’s the rhythms and repetition that do it for me. Everything comes together with such great effect.

Kind of sorry I didn’t read it before.

Does this mean I’m reading more poetry?

No.

Of course not.

Don’t be silly.