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| Startled at the stillness broken by reply so oddly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, ”What it utters is its only stock and store Misidentified as smarter, this bird surely was not the master But a slave freed by disaster learned by rote that which it swore”. So the hope that had in me sprung turned to misery once more Of my lungs bleeding and sore. But the creature still beguiling some distraction from my dying, Straight I pulled my command seat in front of bird and hood hatch door, Then upon the cushion climbing, I betook myself to striving Logic piled on logic considering this strange black bird I saw What this ugly terrestrial bird with its sharp beak and wicked claw Meant in croaking “Eaten raw.” This I sat engaged in guessing, but not one brainwave expressing, To the fowl whose strange black eyes a deep dark expression wore; This and more I sat divining as my tendrils lolled reclining On the aluminium shining by the light of fires score All of London burning from the Martian heat-rays score Still I cough with lungs so sore. Then methought the air grew denser, fraught with some bacterial danger From this wretched life-form perched above my hoods hatch door. “Wretch”, I cried, “Thy world is conquered by our forces that invaded and we shall not be defeated by your microscopic war; Our science implemented will end your futile tiny war!” Quoth the Raven, “Eaten raw.” Swiftly the black bird upstarting took to its wing and darting Darting down and biting -- my left front tentacle it tore, Once again it then alighted on its perch so much contented – While I was quite far from delighted with this brand new pain I bore – From the torn and bleeding tentacle which pain I now did bore. Quoth the Raven, “Eaten raw.” The blood it was a-spurting from the ragged wound so hurting I writhed and flailed ascerting, “That was my tentacle you tore, Is this the response given to my communicative striving? A more undiplomatic gesture there never was before! Acknowledge me your Master and desist your futile petty war!” Quoth the Raven, “Eaten raw.” ”Be that our word of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting tumbling from my cushion flailing for a weapon to make war. “This doom shall not overtake me”, I blurted as I raised the – device of vengeance, pain and death in my rent tentacle so sore, The gun did slip though, dropping from my tendril febrile and sore. Quoth the Raven, “Eaten raw.” And the raven never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting Perched before the map of Paris just above my hoods hatch door; my weakness ever growing, my doom it is approaching, Carried on these black wings beating, pecking my tendrils on the floor. Torn to shreds as I lie dying, dying on this ice cold floor Torn to shreds and – eaten raw! |