Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of football lore, At the goal line, things were happening, Joe Flacco and friends they came a tapping, Ray Lewis and the team were rapping, rapping at the Patriot's door. "'Tis some visitor," they muttered, "tapping at my goal line door" -- Quoth the Ravens "We will score."
Presently their soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said we, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness we implore; But the fact is you were napping, and so gently we came rapping, And so softly you were napping, napping while we scored some more, That I scarce was sure I heard you -- here you opened wide the door;" -- Darkness there, forevermore.
Deep into that darkness peering, long you stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, "They Scored!"' Merely this and nothing more.
Back onto the field turning, all our souls within us burning, Soon there was a tapping somewhat louder than before. "No! This can't be!" you were saying as you stood there anxiously praying, and the crowd was quietly saying "Here they come to score some more."
When it was over we sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into your bosom's core; This and more we sat divining, with our heads at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, The Patriots Dynasty? Quoth the Ravens, "Nevermore."
Jim Reske, Rotonda West, Fla.
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