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.”

There is a forest,
Somewhere around; Nowhere.
And in this forest on a barren patch.
Is a cottage.

On one side of the cottage there is a field,
That burns through night and day.
On the other side is a river,
Where it rains from dusk till dawn.

In this small cottage,
Lives a poet and his two pets.
One a Raven; as black as night.
One a Phoenix; burning brighter then light.

They fight and tease each other.
But although the Phoenix is stronger
The Raven always gets the better of him.
So the Phoenix rages on.

Every night, the house catches on fire,
And the field of fire consumes the house.
Causing the fire to grow stronger.
And spread through the forest even more.

But at 4 am in the morning,
The raven flies up to the moon,
And commands the winds and waters,
To put the fire out of the cottage.

Every morning,
The poet re builds the right side of the house.
Making sure the next fire,
Wont be as damaging.

But one day,
The phoenix turned from a fiery red,
To a midnight blue,
And burned not only the house, but the whole forest.

The river went dry,
The forest turned to ask,
The poet could not re build.
And the Raven had no water or wind to call.

The poet had to go else where.
But could only take one pet.
And although the phoenix burned brighter,
The darkness of the raven seemed safer.

The phoenix was enraged,
He became one with the burning forest.
He rose up to the sky,
And promised to reign heavily on them with ***** of fire.

The raven protected the poet,
And called on to the night,
And with one strong swing of her wings
She blew out the fire that consumed the phoenix and the forest.

Out of the ash,
The poet could re build nothing,
But the Raven offered him protection,
Under her dark wings.

In darkest of nights,
He was protected buy the calmest.
In the heat of the fire,
He feared to burn out and cease to be.