The crow lands on my shoulder: "Give up Jenn. Move on..."
"Quoth the raven, nevermore?" I retort mockingly.
"Poe? I would have figured you for better...but if that's how you want to go...Take this kiss upon thy brow," he pecks me hard and flutters away.
I lift my hand to stem the trickle of blood from my forehead and continue where the denizen of doom left off:
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
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