Poem - Edgar Allen Poe's cat
I love this! My late friend, Nora, who found Leia sent it to me; I have no idea who wrote it!
THE END OF THE RAVEN
On a night quite unenchanting, while 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, I made sure that nothing clattered,
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios 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 this 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.
"Oooh!" 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 valiant gallant kitty
Put an end to that dammed ditty" - then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped and smashed it to the floor.
Hope you enjoyed!
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