My sister didn’t mind the touch Or tickle of the sea; More so, the icy fingertips He used to capture me. My sister loved the salty air And skipped toward the waves,
Dear Mr. Poe And his lover, Amontillado, What did it mean When it killed Fortunato? Sad Mr. Poe And your friend Melancholy, Did Virginia know That you bathed in violent folly? Miserable Mr.
