Poe Et Swain
Many years ago I proposed a skin request, a simple poet, I did suggest, Making this years goal: warrant more attention than ever before, This year, for the holiday season, Im again suggesting a poet, both bird and demon, With his flock about him teeming, be summoned to plague the river's shore A poet to quote the raven, and be neither coward nor craven as he plagues the river's shore, Merely this and nothing more:
Once upon a afternoon bleary, while I played, all weak and weary;
Musing over the quaint and curious volumes of champion lore,
While I swayed, silently singing, suddenly there came a ringing,
As if someone repeatedly pinging, pinging along the river's shore.
'Tis some ally,' I muttered, ringing along the river's shore -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, faintly as I recall, it was probably around the early fall, And it was possible they saw something I hadn't noted before. So now I stood, focus teeming, upon the water that was streaming, Hoping some act would be redeeming the warning from before, Alas, not a movement was redeeming the warning from before, That was it, and nothing more.
Back into the lane I turned, with all my focus now reformed,
Soon again I heard the pinging seemingly louder than before.
Surely,' said I, surely mine ally must be slightly delirious,
Since the threat remains mysterious, there is nothing to explore
Let their worries be still a moment as this mystery I explore; -
Twas a glitch and nothing more!'
Deep into the fog I sat peering, long I watched it wondering, fearing, Pondering, brooding over the warning these pings bore; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was one I persistently ignore, Retreat - the single request my team continued to implore, Merely this and nothing more.
My teams efforts stridently renewed, their gradual pinging instantly ensued, Elevating to a constant ringing, ringing as I proceeded toward the river shore A single ward mine enemies immediately placed, illuminating my entire space, And leaving me standing in an effect reticule I hadnt noted before. A curious circular reticule not there before, So much for my fog of war.
Up from the ground ascended, talons, from which the world upended; And out there stepped a somber poet from gothic days of yore Not a second did he waste, with anxious actions I was faced, Leaving me rooted about the waist, stuck gazing at the rivers shore, As a ghastly grim and demonic raven wandered in from the river's shore Snuffing out our hopes for evermore.
Poet!' I said, thing of evil! - Poet still, if bird or devil!
Whatever ally sent, or whether fate tossed thee here ashore,
Be these words a sign of parting, bird or demon!' I shrieked upstarting
Back to the lane I was hurriedly darting, Return to the gloomy shore,
Get thee back into the fog wafting along the rivers gloomy shore!
Declared the Poet: `Nevermore.'
With his ravens never landing, still hes standing, still hes standing By the pallid copse just above the river's shore; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is scheming, And the moonlight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the moor; As I watch steadily knowing, the depression within me slowly growing, There would be no hope of winning, for his flock will still be spinning, For now and evermore
A dramatic reading thanks to part7!