SBC Week 3 Fun With Photos

Hello there my wonderful writers! For this week  of the Student-EduBlog-Challange, I had to make a story, or my case a poem, that relates to an image. I decided to chose a pretty dreary illistration from Edgar Allen Poe´s The Raven, which if you didn´t know is a horror classic.  My poem is actually structured the same way as The Raven ,  which is why  at certain points in the poem you might pause and say, ¨What?¨ due the repetive nature of the poem. I really did have a lot of fun with this poem and I worked pretty dang hard on it too, so I hope you all enjoy it!


The Crow (A Parody of The Raven)


 I remember that day clearly, for I was sitting in my study weary

Mourning for someone I loved so sincerely

I can love no more

I care no more 

I know better now

Forgive me

I plead.


The world was always dreary that is till I met Erie

Her beauty was in the soul and on face and could be compared to that of a child´s cheery 

When she passed I was so teary 

My life had no meaning

Like a word with no meaning 

I wished I could see her

Just one time

How I wish I had not felt that way

But life is tricky

Now let me proceed.


The night was freezing as my soul was fleeting

The air was stifling 

I sat alone and still till I heard the rapping on my study door

A erie rapping on my study door

I thought to myself

̈Who is rapping and tapping at my door?

What could they want to implore?¨ 

Little did I know 

it had just planted a seed.


I ignored the tapping on my door for it was probably nothing more

than a peasant at my door

I nodded myself back to sleep

but I couldn’t sleep 

for my soul could sleep nevermore

It knew my thoughts and desires

I know that now

and it haunts me.

That I could have let myself be



The rapping and tapping at my study door 

grew louder each knock more sour I could take no more. 

So I opened my study door to only find emptiness.

Emptiness such as that of which has no purpose, emptiness

like my soul


yet filled with that of 

sinful deed.


I returned to my study chair uneasy about this tapping affair

my lair was still cold and weary but now my soul was lost in complete despair

Everywhere I looked I only saw something daunting

Images of my lost Erie, perfume she used to wear, demons haunting, all so daunting

Stalking my mind till my eyes did weep

And my 

soul did bleed


I opened my study window to release the demons in my head so I may not feel my internal dread

But when I opened my door a crow did intrude with such pain in its eyes I thought it was dead

The crow then did rest upon the top of my study door mockingly and hauntingly 

I then decided to implore the crow

̈ ̈What hath brought ye to me young Crovidae breed?¨

Alas its only reply was 

Ne ́er


Why did it say that dreadful word, did it know a second or even a third?

Though I can not lie, my curiosity did expand the moment that bird


How frightening it was, a bird who spoke

In my lair


 I then did implore some more,

̈ ̈What hath brought ye here young demon of yore?̈ ̈ 

Yet alas it’s only response

Its only response being

Ne ́er


It drove me mad, I was no longer sad 

Only filled with hatred was I like that of a child bride

And yet I still wanted to implore

I was still curious, and was getting curiouser, so I did implore

What a mistake 

To start 

A flare


I asked the crow so

̈Will I ever see my lost love, Erie which I loved so dearly, tell me crow or ye  shall be my foe!¨

And it did reply so mockingly

The stupid bird did speak so hatefuly and mockingly 

Ne ́er


I had had enough of that vile beast on my study door, enough did I implore

I shall ask no more

I shall fight it 

I will track it down and burn it 

Enough of this foul bird 

I shall skin 

it bare 


I attacked that beast with my book of a forgotten war, for I wanted to see its gore 

¨I shall destroy you vile beast of yore, I know my pain no leave me forever more!¨

I chased 

And chased 

Till I saw 

Its awful glare 


It evaded every snare in my lair 

I cursed it out with every swear 

I had fallen trapped under my books

Papers my father had read, wonderful books

I could read them 

And I could love them 

Ne ́er


The End


And as all ways, remember to wear your pencils!

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