Red Hair at Moon Light

I sense in the air her muse perfume.
A perfect night, she sings to the Moon,
I see no birds; I don't see a soul,
Only I see Medusa and Minerva's Owl.

A curious bird this Owl is,
Because he sings all night like the Muse does.
Although I know some strange melodies,
I hear nothing but her sweet reveries...

And night shall never be gone
Because she's still in that window,
She's still the one
Looking and singing to the moon as if she was a widow.

And I remember her red hair, although now I see it,
It's marking the page on this Poe's book
Where horror and love are nothing but wit
I would like to see her live look.

And pale she is as the light of a candle,
With that mystery and mystique,
I think I can't handle
The sweetness of those steps with bare feet.

Let the night be eternal,
So I can see her at the window!
Perhaps, she's still singing a song which she learned from a Widow.

Good Evening!

Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen!

Good Evening to all of you!

My name is Christopher Bonnet Wallace! I am about 55 years old, which for the days that I live in is a miracle for someone who drinks and smokes like me...
I have no profession for some, but I have to admit my passion is to counterfeit masterpieces and that's how I earn my living.
I amuse myself watching others be stupid enough to buy fake masterpieces at an auction. Nothing more natural.
Anyway, when I am not spending time in my hidden painting studio , I spend it drinking, smoking and writing poetry. And, of course insulting ladies who think they are the best that society can offer...I like that very much. I live alone with a governess and a dog named Seamus and my beautiful daughter Eliza (no doubt she's her mother's daughter). My wife died very long time ago. We live in a great and good house in the middle of London with all the comfort we could ask. Now there are just us and poetry.


I wish you good night and may this bottle rest in peace!
Sincerely,



C. W.