You had known Poe for a long time, his angelic beauty, his perfect eyes, his divine purity... he wrote six pages of pure praise for you, his wife. You were married, having incredible moments together. Poe remembered when you would place your fingers on his shoulder and lean over his studies. He loved you so much, but now, you were dying. He tried to persuade you and comfort you, but you both knew that death would come sooner or later. He was by your side, telling you his poems