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POE-'EM OF PASSION
 
It was many and many a day ago,
  On an island near the sea,
That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know
  By the name of Cannibalee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than a passionate fondness for me.

I was child, and she was a child --
  Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee --
But she loved with a love that was more than love
  My yearning Cannibalee;
With a love that could take me roast or fried
  Or raw, as the case might be.

And that is the reason that long ago,
  In that island near the sea,
I had to turn the tables and eat
  My ardent Cannibalee --
Not really because I was fond of her,
  But to check her fondness for me.

But the stars never rise but I think of the size
  Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,
And the moon never stares but it brings me
    nightmares
  Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;
And all the night-tide she is restless inside,
Is my still indigestable dinner-belle bride,
In her pallid tomb, which is Me,
In her solemn sepulcher, Me.

- by C.F. Lummis
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