|On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth--
"Nevermore."While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore--
"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out!