A Poe-em of Passion By Charles Fletcher Lummis

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A Poe-em of Passion

IT was many and many a year ago,    
On an island near the sea,  
That a maiden lived whom you mightn’t know    
By the name of Cannibalee;  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought        
Than a passionate fondness for me.  

I was a child, and she was a child—    
Tho’ her tastes were adult Feejee—  
But she loved with a love that was more than love,    
My yearning Cannibalee,        
With a love that could take me roast or fried    
Or raw, as the case might be.    

And that is the reason that long ago,    
In that island near the sea,  
I had to turn the tables and eat        
My ardent Cannibalee—  
Not really because I was fond of her,    
But to check her fondness for me.    

But the stars never rise but I think of the size    
Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,        
And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares    
Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;  
And all the night-tide she is restless inside,  
Is my still indigestible dinner-belle bride,  
In her pallid tomb, which is Me,        
In her solemn sepulcher, Me.

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Lummis is quite a figure, particularly in Los Angeles history. LA Times editor, Head of the library, founder of the Southwest Museum, and builder of the Lummis House.