Ode to the Ratbirds
Ode To The Ratbirds
Upon a winter day so dreary, end of season, weak and weary,
Looking back on all the Pittsburgh heros of our storied lore -
On my couch nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my own front door.
Tis some salesman I muttered, tapping at my own front door:
Mayhaps the paperboy nothing more.
Ah, distinctly I remember, the 14th day of December,
like a fireplace dying ember, the Ravens they could do no more
the next game I wish to watch tomorrow; To add to the Ravens sorrow
Perhaps a TV they can borrow, To see the Superbowl final score.
Champions here for evermore.
And the continual rapping and the constant tap tap tapping
pissed me off - filled me with a irritation never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
Tis some neighbor entreating entrance at my own front door -
Needing a cup of sugar and entreating entrance at my own front door -
This it is and nothing moreĽ.
Presently my wrath grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
Sir, said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, until you rudely came a rapping.
Over and over you came tapping, tapping at my own front door,
I grabbed a golf club, nay.. a bat- Here I opened wide the door -
A RAVEN FAN!!.... nothing more.
From the darkness I saw him peering, at the bat, wondering , fearing,
a conclusion he was nearing that it had been used before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
Staring, with no word spoken, at the ravens jersey that he wore
That nappy ugly purple jersey that he wore
Made me angrier than I was before.
Back into the family room turning, all my soul within me burning,
Knowing I would no more hear the tapping, that I had heard before.
Let them look, and question, the police may soon explore, -
My flower bed and the new pile of dirt they may explore,
Tis a compose heap... nothing more.
-Lambert Allen Poe
Last edited by lamberts-lost-tooth; 01-14-2009 at 12:02 PM.