A shadowy figure, hidden behind the door
It was cold and stormy and windy quite
A candle at the back whispered
And the light that flickered came to a halt
Footsteps echoed with creaking noise
Like déjà vu, the darkness consumed
As it drew near, they kept a tight score
Not one but two ravens, kept their sight
Something peculiar about this bird
Its claws were red and eyes cobalt
One cried out loud in a harrowing voice
And there it flew, the oddity resumed
Concealed at back, was something more
A spiral staircase, down the flight
Taxidermy central, no one had heard
The dead ravens’ screams, a grain of salt
Ghosts of dead birds have no choice
But to pursue, the deed of doom
Poète maudit 