Hawkman
03-19-2010, 01:06 PM
On chime of midnight, in a bedroom dark,
An ancient man upon his death bed lies.
Here, with his clan, his passage for to mark,
A banshee floats - his time-like duty flies.
So well has he been versed in arcane lore,
He clearly knows his dreadful service owed,
He tries to scream but now his throat is sore,
So warning he must give with just Morse code.
“Just death-watch beetle,” says Aunt Flo with scorn,
“The banshee’s shriek will tell us when he’s died,
He’d best be quick for soon it will be dawn.”
Thus does misfortune look for aid outside.
Help from a screech-owl doth the banshee seek,
The owl, obligingly, doth ope’ her beak.
An ancient man upon his death bed lies.
Here, with his clan, his passage for to mark,
A banshee floats - his time-like duty flies.
So well has he been versed in arcane lore,
He clearly knows his dreadful service owed,
He tries to scream but now his throat is sore,
So warning he must give with just Morse code.
“Just death-watch beetle,” says Aunt Flo with scorn,
“The banshee’s shriek will tell us when he’s died,
He’d best be quick for soon it will be dawn.”
Thus does misfortune look for aid outside.
Help from a screech-owl doth the banshee seek,
The owl, obligingly, doth ope’ her beak.