The Final Word - With Apologies To Edgar Allan Poe

The man wore motley, so I whacked him... Hello, my charming neighbor; How you grace me with your wit. You’ve really got the spirit And I like your costume’s fit. What’s that? No, I’ve had plenty. What I need is some advice; I think I’ve found a bargain, If I’ve not misjudged the price. Just yesterday I purchased Something special from abroad, But have a vague suspicion I’ve been victimized by fraud. I bought the thing on impulse Without any guarantees. It’s hidden in my cellar And awaits your expertise. A connoisseur you are, sir, Of music, art and wine, And anyone would value Your opinion more than mine. You have my admiration. That, we know, sir, is no crime. I ask but your opinion, And of course, a little time. Your trust bestows great honor. You’re a man of noble birth. We both shall be rewarded, Each according to his worth. Hold tightly to the handrail; It’s a narrow flight of stairs. Your passing would grieve many. As for me? Well, no one cares. Your interest excites me, But I do not like that cough. Your health is more important; Should we call this venture off? All right then. Not much further. We’ll see how the journey ends. This dampness is an insult Only fine wine can avenge. You know my family's motto. We’re a proud and ancient house; Our coat of arms emblazoned With the doctrine we espouse. And yes, I am a member Of the sacred brotherhood; As very soon I’ll prove it, For you know my word is good. It’s fitting that I’ve kept it With my ancestors’ remains; Locked deep within the fastness Of these ancient iron chains. Well there, then, that was easy. Just relax. I’ll do the rest; Though while I deem it justice, You’d prefer it were a jest. You see, I am a mason, And a brother after all. I work in brick and mortar, Course on course, to build a wall. The wildness of your laughter Leaves me deeply satisfied. The blackness of your silence Makes the last brick hard to slide. But goodbye, Fortunato, I’m returning to the fair To drink Amontillado Till they pour me from my chair. You’ll still be here tomorrow. I’ll be upstairs breathing free. Don’t hang your head in sorrow; You’ve lost better friends than me. Yes so long, Fortunato. I’ve got other things to do. I’ll speak your name in mourning And console your widow, too. I hope you’re taking notice Of a sound you’ve never heard; The first time since I’ve known you That I’ve had the final word.