The way a crow shook down on me, the dust of snow from a hemlock tree.
Has given my heart a change of mood, and saved some part of a day I have rued. -Robert Frost The Limbos' fave author
The End of the Raven -- by Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting, I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for. Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven, Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door. "Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor, "There is nothing I like more"
Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore. While the bard and birdie chattered, I made sure that nothing clattered, Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered, as I crossed the corridor; For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios and wierd decor - Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered, In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth: "Nevermore." While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up, Then I crouched and quickly lept up, pouncing on the feathered bore. Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore - Only this and not much more.
"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out! Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before; How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant, valiant kitty Put an end to my dumb ditty" - Then I heard Poe start to snore. Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor, Jumped - and smashed it on the floor. You shall see it --------nevermore!
