The Craven
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Once upon a midnight frozen,
As I drove the route I'd chosen,
Sitting at the wheel until my butt was sore,
Suddenly, there came a tapping,
Tapping, as if someone rapping,
Rapping gently at my sliding door."'Tis the wind," said I to me,
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."Onward through the night I traveled
As my confidence unraveled,
Thinking of the noise, the ill it bode.
Was it just a stone in hubcap?
Perhaps an unrefastened gas cap?
Or something worse to break and leave me stranded on the road?"'Tis the wind," said I to me,
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."In the headlights, snow was falling,
Still that tapping noise was calling,
Calling all my senses back from whence it came.
Perhaps a cv-joint needs greasing,
And newer boots would make it pleasing.
Yes, that's the ticket! Now that's the one to blame."'Tis the joints," I sagely muttered,
"'Tis the joints, and nothing more."And then, as if it heard my speaking,
The noise was silent ... my ears still seeking
Could find no trace of what I'd heard before.
On I drove, in silent waiting,
Waiting for the noise, restating
In my mind the causes I had thought ... and more."'Tis my mind," said I to me,
"'Tis my mind, and nothing more."Throughout the trip, no noise resounded.
But always now my thoughts are grounded
In the causes of that noise I heard before.
Like a shadow cast by sunlight,
My wraith-like fears will follow; and might
I, from out that shadow, e'er be lifted?
... Nevermore.Joel Walker
