Roses and A Bottle of Cognac

So there's this article on CNN about people trying to disrupt a tribute to Edgar Allan Poe which occurs every year on his birthday, January 19th. A mystery man places roses and a bottle of cognac on the writer's grave but this year people tried to disrupt the ceremony in an attempt to unmask the stranger. What is it about these people? Why do they feel the need to fuck up such a cool tradition? Why don't they focus their energy on uncovering the lies our government and media bombard us with instead? Besides, where is the respect? The guy wrote "The Tell-Tale Heart," one of the greatest short stories ever written. He wrote this amazing poem also which drove me to writing poetry in the first place. So, let the guy rest, let him have his roses and cognac in peace.

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

© Edgar Allen Poe