Poe wrote another poem, dark and quite long,
’Bout a dude who was moping, quite sad,
His girlfriend Lenore had clearly gone wrong,
Leaving him utterly mad.
One night, as he’s reading, half asleep,
A tapping he hears at his door,
He opens it up, into darkness so deep,
“Lenore?” he whispers, unsure.
But instead of his babe, all radiant and fair,
A raven flies in, you see,
Perches above him, with nary a care,
And says, “Nevermore,” chillingly.
The dude starts to chat with this ominous bird,
Asking questions, morose and absurd,
If he’ll see Lenore, or if he’s been heard,
But the raven can just say one word.
He gets quite upset, calls the raven a demon,
Says it’s tormenting him, no less,
But the bird doesn’t budge, just keeps on gleaning,
“Nevermore,” causing much distress.
The poem concludes, with the dude in despair,
The raven still perched, dark and grim,
A symbol of grief, that he just has to bear,
All thanks to that feathery whim.
In short, it’s a tale of loss and of woe,
A bird with a limited vocab,
Driving a grieving man crazy, you know,
Leaving his sanity totally scabbed.
