Nevermore.

One evening late, 't was late December, softly wrapping 't was I heard,
how peculiar thought I, I remember, that must be a mockingbird.
On the snow rich still, still tender, the bird was ticking frantically,
so I left my chair and went there, towards the window then I went there,
I left chair and paper and to the window went there,
curious 'bout its errantry.

Though then in wonder, wondrous lore, for it was no mocking-bird,
't was the Raven from Poe's Nevermore, which I gently wrapping heard.
Opened up to snow, 't was bleak December, the Raven hopped then on my desk,
and spoke to me: “I do remember, from the older days of yore,
't was long ago, but I do remember from before,
this room to be some more grotesque.”

I said: “'t has been long since Nevermore, the older days are gone and done,
all it is now, some book's lore, all it was with years has gone.”
“To err is human”, the Raven said, “forever go the tale and lore!”
Then the Raven laughed at that: "Lenore will never be no more,
her lore has gone, but yours begun as hers is yore.
Now Nevermore is at your door!”

So I frightened, was this the end? A wrap, a tap, a knock on door?
Behind it a black robed gent'? One swift move of ax, then Nevermore?
“O Nevermore, so evermore, why have you come then at my door?
I am a single man and poor, have none in hand to spent,
just me here is with none in hand, with none to spent
to which I owe this damning lore?”

I fell to knees and clasped my hands and prayed to all the Gods I know.
The Raven laughed: “Do understand, Nevermore to no God does bow!”
The hours fell, the dawn came calling, the sun arose besides the hill,
but I still was in darkness falling, 'till I thought I fall no more,
I fell and fell in darkness's core, fell more and more,
waiting for the foretold thrill.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I prayed there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before,
But the silence stayed unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
Until the only word there spoken was whispered softly: "Nevermore!"
This I whispered and an echo murmured softly back: "Nevermore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

The day went by in maddening rush, the Raven only rasped his tale,
then dusk set in in quiet hush, the room went dark as I went pale.
A quiet sound, a silent scratch, my destiny was at my door,
to faith and doom I opened up, opened up to the Raven's tale,
to destiny's tale, opening to the Raven's hail,
to the spirit of the Nevermore.

In fright I tumbled back and fell, closed my eyes and cried out loud,
the echo through the forest yelled, a squirrel fled in silent doubt.
"O Nevermore, I humbly ask, why this calling at my door?
I am a man of peaceful tasks, of silent words and quiet sounds,
when to speak and when to shout, I know my bounds,
why have I earned your damning lore?”

A nocturne rasp came then aloud, I opened eyes, surprised much more,
and saw as a foreboding scout, a giant Crow there at my door.
I asked surprised: “Are you the one? The one they call the Nevermore?”
The Crow then laughed: “No, I am none, but nevertheless stout,
here I am, but still am not, have no doubt,
I am never any more!”

“I have come to take your soul, to the world that's Nether,
I am which takes ghost and ghoul, and faith and doom I gather.
Nevermore is who I serve, evermore 'till end of ever,
take the souls who so deserve, all those spirits and those souls,
all those deserving, whether goods or fouls,
with me to the Never.”

I cried out loud in agony: “You ain't getting none of me!”
Jumped up in mortal ecstasy and screamed: “Why don't you leave me be?”
I slammed the door, the hinges creaked, sat me in my chair and sighed,
the Crow then through the window sneaked: “Never fear, for I am here,
you look to left, I am the right, you close the front, I come from rear,
You can run away but cannot hide!'

"Prophet!", said I, "thing of evil, Prophet still, if bird or devil,
by the Heavens above us I swear, I do not run or just be gone!"
My anger flared, I grabbed my gun and shouted: “My life ain't nothing worth,
but if I have to go, won't go alone! Thee Prophet, thing of evil,
I'll take thee with me, be it to either God or Devil.”
And shot the Crow back to the Netherworld.

Silence set in, as I turned around, looked the Raven in his eye,
said to him: “I'll not be bound, for Nevermore I will not cry!”
The Raven now his wings did spread and down upon the still he sat,
there he turned around in dread: “I leave a black plume as a token,
of the lies thy soul hath spoken, leave thy loneliness unbroken,
but Nevermore does not forget!'

“For now thy doom has been averted, take my beak now from thy heart,
take my form from off thy still, as I will now fly and part,
go thee back into the tempest and the night's darkly waters,
watch my black plume and hear the waters wash ashore,
wait then for the moment I'll be knocking,
knocking once more at your door!"

The Raven then his ebony wings did spread and took off into the night,
as a sudden realization took uphold there of my fright,
be it faith or doom I saw, in the dark eyes of the Raven,
be his lore from devils or gods, surely he was no craven,
was his crest so shorn and shaven, a God, a Devil, or just a Raven,
I'll have no fear no more of Nevermore!

But now I sit here, years have gone but still I clearly remember,
all that transpired on that weary and bleak day that late December,
remember all the tales of Crow and Raven, feeding, laving,
all that senses were then craving, remember all the lore,
all the stories of the glories of the long gone days of yore,
of the spirit Nevermore.

I just sit here, weary, dreary, fearing though I fear no more,
waiting for that tap, that wrap, that scratch on door,
for the ebony robed gent', waving with his ax afore.
Thinking of a radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore,
of such a rare and radiant maiden, of whom I'm descendant,
who was taken by the Nevermore.

And so I sit here, just remember, that day in bleak and dark December,
as each separate dying ember wrights its ghostly shadow on the floor.
And eagerly I wish the morrow to wash away my tears and sorrow,
as the silken sad uncertain rustling of the gently flowing curtain
thrill me, fill me with fantastic horrors never felt before,
terrors of the Nevermore.

And I sit engaged in guessing, while no syllable expressing,
as I think of the fowl whose fiery eyes burned into my bosom's core.
The plume I watch and sit divining, with my head at rest reclining,
on the cushion's sliver lining that the embers glow is gloating o'er,
all the while my tears are flowing, thinking of the Raven's lore,
'bout all that is, yet is no more.

Suddenly the air grows denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,
as I hear some angel's quiet footsteps tinkle on the tufted floor.
"Wretch", I cry, "thy God retreat thee, does he not know,
I cannot part from all the mem'ries of the days of yore."
But then I know it is was no angel that flew through my opened window,
and so quoth the Raven: "Nevermore..."

And the Raven, never flitting, quietly sitting, silently sitting,
on an ancient bust of Pallas hanging 'bove the chamber door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon ghastly dreaming,
and the embers guide his shadow from the ceiling to the floor.
And my soul from out that shadow that is shading more and more,
shall be lifted- nevermore!