A raven flew across the wasted lands,
ripe with traps and siren calls -
who sang of sweet unknowns,
'let us know! let us know! - we want your soul to own!'
-
And when the night it came at last,
a twinkling light he saw so far.
Oh, how it spoke with white candour
of a place to rest, of a place to chant - somewhere to land.
-
With hurried flight he dived the night,
a blur, of midnight sky.
The light, it grew so fast;
a pub! Upon this wretched land?
-
The windows lit, a full locale!
where patrons drank and people sang.
Upon the door, in runes of old - the Midnight Pub.
-
But no! Entrance barred,
for those who come from afar.
-
Sorrow embraced the raven,
who began a silent ode,
of his travels - and of his woe.
-
'Far I've flown and much I've seen,
but never saw a brightest light - so pristeen.
So I swear upon the winking stars
and by the lunar imps' mischief,
I will comply and I will behave,
I will follow this pub's etiquette.'
-
With a heavy *clack*, the door swung open,
the Midnight's owner made his choice.
With a wide smile and clear voice
the crow - began a serenade.
Tracker tips his hat as the Raven's song concludes.
And may you fly alone - nevermore!
I love this so much