Once upon a lunch hour dreary, I was jogging, weak and weary,
Over many a drab and tedious road outside my back door.
While I stumbled, nearly crapping, suddenly there came a flapping,
As of strong wings quickly flapping, flapping above my bald head poor.
'tis some garbage' I muttered, 'Flapping, above my bald head poor'.
Only this and nothing more.
Ah, quite distinctly I must say, Twas on a gentle day in May
And each separate passing car, all wrought cool wind upon my face,
Eagerly I ran from sorrow, that I might some fitness borrow,
That I might run fast tommorow- Less weight gain for to stay.
For the intrusive thing called weight gain for to stay.
But of this more I cannot say.
And the quiet flapping air uncertain, from a large black talon'd curtain,
Thrilled me- Chilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before,
So that now I heard the beating wings to start, I glanced retreating,
'Tis some dumb bird entreating perch upon my bald head poor'
Some big black bird, entreating perch upon my bald head poor'
That's enough and nothing more.
Presently the bird grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
'Caw' he said, 'Caw Caw', and tried to make my poor head sore,
'Dang bird better stop that flapping! Or busily I'll start a slapping'
I yelled to the swooping bird hoping he would fear my roar,
'Don't you try to chase me further ' I said in a voice I used before,
just "Cawing" there, and nothing more.
Down the road I went a peering, Turning my head ever fearing,
The winged assault, cawing and flapping I had heard before,
"Surely" said I, "Surely I've passed this birds nest by now",
He will likely not chase me further down here anymore,
No, he has given up and returned not to flap anymore,
To his nest, to fly and nothing more.
then behind I saw a flutter, and through my person I felt a shudder,
and at me flapped a black raven, an in flight raven with fury sore.
Not the least reluctance showed he, not an instance stopped or stayed he,
But with eyes of fury, focused, focused, on the patch on my bald head poor.
For to perch on with talons of malice, just atop my bald head poor.
A 'caw' he spat and nothing more.
Round the corner, post retreating, Spied a stick I saw for beating,
Beating, at this deranged bird, with enflamed zeal and talons sore.
'Bring it on' I began to yell, 'I'll smack your raven butt n' make it swell',
hating the bird fell, hoping at last i'd even the score.
But trees, and air I saw, only trees and air as those I saw before,
Only this and nothing more.
Sorrow is such sweet parting, I thought once more starting,
To run back through all those roads of which I'd gone before.
But as I returned to pace, I saw a shadow before my face,
Soaring from a hidden place, with flapping fury as he had before,
and regardless of my stick, at my sweaty bald spot his claws tore,
just a flapping felt, only this and nothing more.
Wildy I swung my bow staff, trying for his life to quaff,
Swinging, stinging, my ears ringing, at this bird of forgotten lore,
Flew he then upon the lamp, far above my head so damp,
Cold black talons to slowly stamp, upon the lampost fore,
Sitting staring, cold eyes glaring, from the lampost fore,
Only this, and nothing more.
Ever more I looked behind me, wondering if he would find me,
Looking away from his taloned fury, he held back in store,
But still and solemn he stood, Upon the lamptops hood,
Bidding farewell for good, to my balding head so poor,
Sitting laughing, insolence strafing, upon my head so poor,
humbled by fury, only this and nothing more.