H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)
Restoring far-off times,
With stilted, Georgian rhymes,
He tried repealing Fate
Two centuries too late.
And when he saw the worth
Of poems dead at birth,
He turned his pen to write
Strange fantasies at night.
Then when the morning came,
He signed his unknown name.
To one more priceless page
Forgotten by his Age.
Forgotten, all except
For friends who paid their debt
By publishing him till
His fame no Fate can kill.
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