Once upon a midnight dreary, as we watched pale-faced and weary
O'er a suspect hiding stealthily safe behind his oak front door,
As Doyle nodded, softly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Such as raindrops gently lapping, soft against the bedroom door
Gentle raindrops softly tapping, rapping silken on the floor
But no rain fell, I was sure.
As the moon hung, softly shining, suddenly a shadow flying
Swooped down low upon the siding, landing soft outside the door
As I watched it move in closer, standing on the window closure
Preening soft black feathers, so sure I would welcome its allure
Greet and welcome the intrusion as the night upon us bore
Welcome it for evermore.
With the sound, Ray Doyle had woken, watching with distrust unbroken
As the bird, a sable token of the Devil in folklore
Walked into the chamber striding, as though welcome we're providing
Giving shelter unconfining 'gainst the wintry weather raw
Shelter 'gainst the dreary, weary, wintry wind that tore
Round the chamber evermore.
Then the Raven, gaze unblinking, met Doyle's dark blue gaze unflinching
Sharing secrets without speaking, so I fancied that I saw
Reaching out one hand in greeting, with a chip toothed grin entreating
Doyle sat still in silence waiting as the bird reached out a claw
As the big black bird in welcome reached out with a taloned claw
Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then Doyle spoke, the silence broken, "You're no bird – you are a token
Just a simple message spoken 'twould be foolish to ignore.
Tell me then your message truly, for I'm positive that surely
I could never more now rue the boring evening we'd in store
The dull and torturous evening spying on the suspect's door."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
Hearing this I came in nearer so that I could hear more clearer
Sable bird speak out more queerer than ever I had heard before
Certain that the message hidden may appear as though unbidden
Clearer far that if 'twere written large upon the bare wood floor
From a country from which shore no message ever had been borne
Far beyond the realms of lore.
Hiding my unease with practice, "Sure," I said, "the simple fact is
Raven here is quoting phrases that it heard in days of yore.
Such stray sentences lack meaning, although plainly it is seeming,
(Rather like when one is dreaming) to have answers by the score.
But surreal indeed are answers that are naught but, 'Nevermore'"
Quoth the Raven, "Are you sure?"
"Answer then, bird of ill omen, will there ever be a time when
I am certain of forgiveness when I cross the Styx's shore?
Will I be grey haired and weary, with my past as mercenary
Long forgotten and an eerie memory left of days of yore
Just an ancient soldier peaceful and at one with all nature?"
Raven, winking - "Nevermore!"
"Begone, fiend!" I cried, "And leave us! You have no fair word to cheer us
And your meaning, though obtuse, is clearly only of censure.
Warriors require Valhalla, something pure to honour valour,
Something honest and enduring about which we can be sure
Something strong and pure and perfect that forever will endure.
All you give is, 'Nevermore'".
But Doyle smiled and said, "Fair Raven, can you tell of any haven?
Any comfort, any heaven, which will be ours to treasure?
Some place warm and safe, where respite from a world of cruel gunfights,
Treason, bribery, and pure spite, which is all we've known for sure?
Is there yet love out there for us – can we win something so pure?"
Quoth the Raven, "Evermore".
Then the bird with some reluctance finally ventured forth an utterance,
Though it seemed its very countenance looked to blush from beak to claw.
"Both Ray Doyle and William Bodie have a following that wholly
Loves and worships both men solely and is blind to any flaw.
True adoration rare indeed, and most warranted for sure
Guaranteed long to endure."
"Be you demon, bird, or angel, certain seems you're no plain raven
Sent to spy on our poor game when such strong utterances you swore.
Tell us then what is your missive, what and where and when and which is
These strange persons whom you're hitched with, on whose part you do implore
With such deep profound affection on their part you do implore?"
Quoth the Raven, "Many more.
"It is sure you have no notion of the depth of my devotion,
So I passed the mystic ocean, though I'm trapped in raven form
Knowing certain that my journey, although trapped in raven body,
Though as bird alone I passed the Gates of Ivory and Horn,
Leaving far behind reality which is all I've ever known
Would be for one night alone."
At these words, the bird sighed lowly, as though heartsore, sick and lonely
As though thoughts of home were only something which she must endure.
With her great dark eyes entreating, I could see, though it was fleeting,
Signs of patent love and wanting in those big blue eyes so pure
In those lustrous orbs a-sighing with a love long to endure
Which would end – ah – Nevermore.
Doyle stroked feathers soft and sable, with hands certain, sure and able,
And the Raven, black as Bible, sighed at contact safe and sure
Wondering at the words unspoken, seeing her as now an omen
More of love's own sweetheart token than a Devil bird of lore
Now a love bird with heart broken at the thought of daybreak o'er
Which would end her brief sojourn.
Doyle in sombre silence spoke then, "Will you ever come back again?
Can we meet again some time when you escape your distant shore?"
And the silken certain ruffling of her feathers gave an inkling
Of the deepest darkest feelings hidden in the bird's own core
As she shivered, softly sighing, 'gainst the creeping light of dawn
That began to creep o'er all.
Sensing that Ray Doyle had fallen, I resigned myself to more than
Usual grumbling and moans than ever he had done before.
"Tell me then," I asked her finally, "Is there anyone who finds me
Tall, dark, handsome and beguiling, under fifty, fit and warm?"
With a wicked glint in eye the Raven simply said, "For sure
No doubt there, you can be sure."
Then the dawn broke over rooftop, and it seemed as though time did stop,
And no sign of Raven or drop of night's rainfall on the floor
Turning to Doyle then I wondered whether 'twas a dream – but stopped dead
At the sight of sable feather held in Doyle's right hand so sure
Blue-black glints lit up the feather, and it proved for once and all
Raven would return once more.
