A Familiar ~black Bird~

The sun spoke not a word to me, its voice enshrouded by arrays of ever thick'ning cumuli, though silent too their whites and grays. Peculiar not was such a sky, save what I saw within its flow: a solitary Nevermore-- the very same that tortured Poe. It smeared the cloudy firmament; foreboding was its lofty flight. How very strange it was indeed to see such pinions pierce the white. What other reason could there be for such a wicked thing to stray but serve as devil's advocate, for mortals did it see as prey. And as I stood with eyes affixed on morbid Nevermore's visage, its conic maw let loose a caw; twas not therefore a winged mirage. Perhaps it wished to plague my soul, the faculty of living flesh, for that I knew it watched with zeal; till madness rang, it wouldn't rest. "Begone," I cried from humble earth, "you shall not roost within my mind! Return to hell from whence you came; too strong am I for you to bind!" Discern I did its ill intent, and so elude I did its curse, but still it looms on kindred days, and for you I do fear the worst. Much like the portrait-bound Sir Gray, withhold your sight from whitened air in which the candle has no tongue, for such a wretched roof is where misfortune's black familiar flies: a crooked singing Satan's-eye!