CreamyLady
Uncompromising Visionary
- Joined
- Apr 20, 2000
- Posts
- 2,685
This was posted on a pagan site I visit; alas, there is no clue as to who wrote it.
THE END OF THE RAVEN
By Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
On a midnight quite enchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting
of the man that 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, curious and weird 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 the dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt 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 and end to that damned ditty . . ."
then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped -- and smashed it on the floor.
THE END OF THE RAVEN
By Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
On a midnight quite enchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting
of the man that 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, curious and weird 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 the dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt 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 and end to that damned ditty . . ."
then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped -- and smashed it on the floor.
