Once upon a midnight,windy, Graveyard heavy, tombstone weary, Rose a man of great renowned- The writer of which works can be found Classroom sat in many a volume galore. As the news and folk declare- The dead whose lungs again took in air, The writer who now stood before- T’was Poe (and raven) of “Nevermore”.
“So if it be daemon, omen, curse or hex-” In deciding action next, he spoke forth these words of old, “I have been given further morrow, time of which furthers my sorrow, Yet if I may this new life borrow- borrow perhaps to bring prose more- In the hope,to continue prose more- Pen to paper I’ll restore.”
Many a night spent struggling to create rhymes anew, Edgar realized how language had changed, For **** no longer meant to slay, and his beloved had turned to bae! On his desk the perched bird had flown- To say these words in had it flown- Quoth the Raven “Just use Rhymezone.”