By Edgar Allan Poe (1809 - 1849)

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

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?

I’ve lived one long life for many years,

And found much to treasure,

A fair share of smiles and tears,

As I reflect on memories with little displeasure,

I think that I surely have had,

A life well lived by any measure.

No, all my dreams I did not yet beget,

But with certainty I say,

Despite it all, I have not one regret.

So if the dream of life now should end,

And soon I wake in the arms of death,

Why not greet him as a friend?

As my story comes to its final chapter,

Let it in the epilogue be said:

With friends and family around her,

She died not with fear, but a smile instead.

Love, the painter thought, was a terribly vexing thing. Before he had met her, he fancied himself a master of his craft capable of creating perfection on the canvas; however, their meeting had humbled him. For in his eyes she was real perfection, and nothing he nor any other artist could create could ever quite compare to her.

The predator stalked the girl, watching with keen eyes. It lay hidden from her sight in waiting. As it adjusted its position, it saw its opportunity to strike. In a single motion, it pounced.

As the very fierce predator hit its mark, the girl laughed at her kitten’s pouncing antics.