The Raven . . . er, Vulture Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wondered, sad and weary, Over many an unpaid bill from York, just like before. While my patience they were sapping, suddenly there came a tapping, Like someone gently knocking, knocking on my bedroom door. "Must be someone drunk," I thought, "and knocking on my bedroom door - That's all, nothing more." Very well I do remember, that it happened last December, As I sat surrounded by the papers on my floor. How I dreaded the tomorrow, when vainly I would seek to borrow Money for the bills that I had tried hard to ignore - For the bills from York where my savings I did pour. That money's gone for evermore. At that time I was uncertain, with the rustling of each brown-beige curtain, If they were bill-collectors knocking on my bedroom door. I knew I had to calm my fears, of visits by the profiteers, "It's not them knocking on my bedroom door - Just some student knocking on my bedroom door - That is it - nothing more." When I found I shook no more, I figured I should check the door. "Hey you," I called, "whoever you are, you scared me to the core! I hardly noticed you were there - wait a minute while I fix my hair - And you knocked so quietly, much too quietly on my bedroom door, And I wasn't sure what I heard" - and then I opened up my door: Empty hallway, nothing more. I checked the hallway, left and right, and all I saw in the empty night, Was a paint stain that my neighbour made on the carpet a month before. It was silent, not even a stereo - where did all the people go? - And the only thing I heard was a whisper, "I am poor." It was whispered by me, and the echo answered back, "I am poor." Only that and nothing more. I turned then and went back inside, to balance my books again I tried, But again I head a knocking, and it was louder than before. "That," I said, "is definitely something scratching at my window: I'll see what it is: I don't know how they got to the fifth floor. I'll just have to be brave, and then go to explore: It's just the wind and nothing more." Though the night was filled with snow, I went and opened wide the window, And in came a vulture like none I'd seen before; He didn't stop before he did it, not caring what I thought about it; He flew right in and perched above my bedroom door - Perched upon the bust of Bethune above my bedroom door - Sat right down, and nothing more. Spring 1998