The Man

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I fluttered, weak and weary,
Over the many moldy mounds on the monotonous misty moor,
On I fluttered, nearly died, then suddenly I happ'ed to spy
A huge and hulking hoary house menacing the misty moor.
"'Tis a shelter!" I rejoiced, "beckoning me to its door!"
This I hoped, and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
When each darkly feathered member left its life upon the moor.
Eagerly I came a-calling, but the scene there was appalling
When I peeped into a window of a room, from ceiling to floor,
Filled with volumes old and dusty never browsed since long before
My flight from off the muddy moor.

And the wobbly, weird, unwieldy way the gentleman did sway
While I watched him fume and fantasize about I know not what
Made me feel a bit uneasy and in fact I was quite queasy
But my daemon made it clear to me, and I could not ignore
Its urging to find an open door
To enter the house, and then what more?

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
Swiftly did I flap my wings and enter through a broken door.
In the darkened halls I glided heedlessly through darkness like a
Velvet cloud of ink without a sign of wall or floor
Until I turned a corner and 'twas there I met a door
I flew into it, nothing more.

Deep inside the room I heard the man a-mutt'ring as he stirred
Shuffling, groaning, growling did he then approach the dismal door.
In my terror did I fly, returning to the breast of night
But my curiosity did stop me fleeing o'er the the fragrant moor
And I came with trepidation to a window and sensations
Horrible did me assail as I gazed upon the floor.

There inside the chamber scattered on the floor, around a ladder
Tomes and tomes and moldered pages lying on the filthy floor
Greeted my inquiring vision and I made a quick decision:
I must enter in that room and help this mindless omnivore
To rearrange his dwelling and forget this person called Lenore
Named by him, that ceaseless bore

So I tapped upon the pane of glass, which, slickened by the rain
Made me slide and shudder on the ledge brought up from depths of yore,
Placed against the moody mansion in some ill thought out expansion
Of its innards so to make it like a labyrinth 'round its core,
Then so suddenly that ass did open wide those sheets of glass
Almost did I fall upon the puddles of the muddy moor.
Muddy, moldy, misted moor.

But I did not fall. I stood, and elegantly as I could
I strode into the room to teach and tend to him as was my chore.
With a flutter of my wing and no other thought but sing
The praises of the world and wonders of the days of yore
So as to take from him his sorrow, give him hope of new tomorrows,
Free him of this hounded horrifying hold of woman named Lenore,
And I shouted, "Nevermore!"

Up I hopped and up soared, up to a bust of paste and board
That sat in silent, prim repose upon the wall, above the door.
Down below the man just stared in stupor, then he glared
And angrily he shouted at me like a stupid, vacuous boor.
Furious he was at that fact that I had come and sat
Upon his bust of dust and mustiness and fancy
Dropping bits of battered dreams and fantasies upon the floor
Was the bust then his Lenore?

Raging on he did me utter dreadful words from all the gutters
Of those slimy, dirty filthy holes of dust and smoke from o'er the moors
On and on he went, repeating phrases, labels, titles fleeting
Making out a vague mirage of what he must have thought my chore
Fists a-shaking, voice a-quaking, furiously squealed and howled he
Stomping petulantly on the floor
Fuming in his fluster did he fling out insults without pity
Stinging quick my helpful heart as I perched above his door
And I sputtered, "Nevermore!"

So I promised to the spirits without sorrow, without cheer, it
Would be my burden and my partic'lar chore
To see this man here eased of grief and pain; this, yes this is chief
Of all my cares at this dark moment while he rolls upon his floor
Hands to head and knees to trunk, he sobs and makes himself quite drunk
With useless memory and tears. I am quite sure of my business here:
It is to wipe away this demon succubus Lenore
And here I stay, never flitting, I'll be sitting, ever sitting
And till I have my satisfaction of seeing peace below this door
I shall flutter nevermore!