The sun is setting,
In that haunted place,
And the coasts of New England,
Reflect on his face,
Elegantly arrayed- eloquently conveyed,
A myriad of mystery this man has purveyed,
The frigid wind and water has brayed,
But the man of New England has ceased to fade,
Colonialism in stone and stitch,
The ancient burning of the witch,
The aching yearn- carnal twitch,
And academia as his niche,
His heart pounding, but his blood won't clot,
It reveals the signs of his secret plot,
To enamor the one he unwittingly sought,
And demonstrate the power he wrought,
The sun is rising,
On the distant shore,
And I look to the north,
Eager for more