There came a midnight knock, a tap,
But at the door was only black.
So dark it was, I felt not saw,
His wings brush past me, nothing more.
I turned, my hopes of sweet dreams died,
The Knocking Crow had come inside.
I’d heard the tales and warnings said
Of when he calls you from your bed,
And now I sensed his beady eye
Upon me from a shelf up high.
What did he want, the dreadful crow?
Why did he make me shiver so?
I could not read, nor drink my tea,
His darkness settled over me.
That pointy beak! That wicked claw!
What horrors had he wrought before?
At last my terror grew so great
I cried, “Pray tell Sir, what’s my fate?
Why did you choose to enter here?
I’m at your mercy, crow of fear!”
He spread his wings, opened his beak,
I quaked, what foul things would he speak?
His voice as cracked and old as sin
Said “No one asks why I come in!”
“But now young human, since you dare...
It’s jolly freezing perched out there.”
Poets on the funeverse
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