I
Once upon a shoulder dareful
Perched a raven, tired and careful
In search for the sleep most restful.
Now the shoulder was no any,
But a bard's, one of many,
Of such skill that made a penny.
"By the prophet, by the maven,
If it isn't here a raven
That found me a safe haven.
Croak! Oh croak for me - not hard,
Just enough for me to guard
Your crest and beak," said the bard.
The raven wanted to rest,
No syllables he expressed
And showed to have no jest.
"Have it your way and rest on my shoulder,
Sing you a song right next to this boulder.
When you wake up, you better be bolder."
Until nighttime the bird stayed.
With next to no motion, he laid
Still, next to a bolder and prayed.
When the nighttime came, however,
Kindred ravens flew wherever.
Such sight the bard saw never.
You know what they say of birds of a feather:
If one must fly, they all fly together,
And so did the raven follow the tether.
Now the bard was mad, he went for the bird
And gave a chase which he thought absurd
But slowed not until his croaking he heard.
