Midnight Raven: a Splendidly Overdone Poem
The midnight raven does not chatter.
He screeches and waits
upon the gallows for a hanged man’s eye
-a tasty morsel for a daemon.
For a raven is a fine gentleman
who feasts only on the foulest carrion.
This feathered fiend who lurks
pays no heed to the Holy.
He would sit upon the heaven’s gates
if only to purloin a child’s soul.
“Hark!” he cries, “I bring ill tidings,
I am the emissary for the ashen horse!”
Oft on a dreary autumn morn
the harbinger tap-tap-taps on a window
and all inside do quake in terror
for Death draws near to collect due payment.
In the end it is the raven
who laughs mockingly upon the bodies.
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