No one has ever seen my face.
I have been visiting the great writer for more than 50 years.
The man who used to go to Poe's grave is a man like you, made of flesh and blood, a man who rejoices and grieves.
But years pass, ears do not hear and eyes no longer see well, not even the letters on the tombstone.
I see only shadows but they are not frightening, they guide me through the darkness of the dark.