The Naven

Once upon a newsgroup dreary, while I filtered, weak and weary,
Through many a quaint and curious pile of unforgotten lore,
While I read on, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the newsgroup door.
"'Tis some nincompoop," I muttered, "crapping at the newsgroup's door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in a bleak September,
Watching Creatures 2 "unravel"... and the dead Norns on the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- better Norns I'd hoped to borrow
>From a website I had visited- so many times before-
>From a website that had had enough- and closed for good its doors.
"File Not Found"... for evermore.

And the sad and sudden closing of each valued Creatures website,
Chilled me- filled me with repugnance that I'd never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some sticky-fingered graphics thief- a 'creature' to abhor...
With no talent to create his own... his website just a bore;-
This is theft, and nothing more."

Presently my rage grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Captain, truly... you're a monumental bore;
But the fact is you were stealing, so please cease your righteous squealing:
You're a flame-broiled little loser... picking teeth up off the floor...
Who cries vengeance? Do we know him?"- here I opened wide the door;-
Craven darkness... nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there laughing... jeering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Creatures player ever dreamed before;
But the silence was unbroken, yet the stench still gave a token,
And the only words there spoken were my whispered words, "What for?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, "What for?"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my rage within me burning,
Soon again I heard a nattering... but louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely Sisko is a plague much worse than Disco:
Let us see then what the threat is, and this mystery explore-
Stop our laughter for a moment... and this mystery explore;-
'Tis a windbag... nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a squirt and splutter,
In there flopped an ugly Naven, like an angry open sore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a moment stopped or stayed he;
But, with motives dark and shady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Toby... just above my chamber door-
Perched, and pooped... and nothing more.

Then this noxious bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
At the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy head be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art base and craven,
Just a sad and silly Naven from some smelly cesspool's shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on this cesspool's smelly shore!"
Quoth the Naven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing such a twit above his door-
Such a nincompoop upon the bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Naven, sitting lonely on the plaster bust, spoke only
Just one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nodding off- he woke ... and started- dropped a feather... then he farted-
Till I held my nose and muttered, "other jerks have flown before-
Come tomorrow, he'll have left us, as the others did before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

But the Naven perched beguiling... and I couldn't keep from smiling,
As I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the cushion sinking, I betook myself to thinking
What this mangy little scavenger was visiting me for-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, goofy, gruesome little bore,
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

"Be that word a sign of parting!" as the Naven started farting-
"Fly thee back into thy tempest and thy smelly cesspool's shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of the lies that you have spoken!
Leave the Creatures sites unbroken!- you are pond scum!... nothing more!
I grow tired of your ranting, let me help you find the door!"
Quoth the Naven, "Nevermore."

Now the Naven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Toby... just above my chamber door;
But his eyes are now all glassy, and he's nowhere near as sassy...
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
Little tacks through little talons, so he falls not on the floor...
He's been stuffed- forever more!