The Raven

Written by Mike of thebeerrater.com based on the original text of “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe.

Once upon a weekend dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious growler of forgotten pours—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly a thirst for tapping,
As if some one gently rapping, rapping at my fridge’s door.
“’I need a drink,” I muttered, “tapping at my fridge’s door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was not much passed September;
And each separate CAMRA member told me visit them once more.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—after work and free of bore-o
In my fridge a void of sorrow—Empty shelves and nothing more —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name… Beer—
Take me to the liquor store.

And the hollow, sad, uncertain clinging of each empty bottle
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’ Some late visitor must sneaking all the while I snore next door
’Some visitor will get a rapping for emptying my fridge’s stores;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently your kidnapping,
Left me short of beer for cracking, while waiting for my team to score,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Beer?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Nope!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I yearned for tapping somewhat stronger than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely there is something in my closet cellar;
Let me see, how bad my spot is, and this mystery explore—
Let my home have just a bottle and this mystery be no more;—
’T’was only wine and nothing more!”

Quickly here I revved the starter, off I raced with without a stutter,
In I stepped to Raven’s Brewing before they locked their building’s door;
“I need a drink” I said to she; with not a minute’s pause or fault;
“Start from the top, work down the board”—
Leaned upon the counter, I’m staying here until I’m sore—
I perched, and sipped, and nothing more.

Then this fresh hopped beer beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
O’ this malts and hops concoction I have not had its kind before,
“Though thy shop be new and budding, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Tasty beer and balanced flavours. I’ll be back to here once more—
Tell me that thy lordly name has much more of this in store!”
Quoth Raven’s Brewing “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled this brilliant fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet has not liked having ESB’s with fresh hops poured—
I filled a growler and sadly treaded out the door,
Wish fresh hopped season were not so short.”

Once at home, reaching high on kitchen stool, picked the chalice
That one glass, as if his soul were meant for what I did pour.
Nothing farther then I uttered—not a word or silent mutter—
Till from the growler beer did flutter, “I forgave the theft before—
If stranger left my stock complete, this fresh hopped Beer I might ignore.”
O Raven Brewing please do “encore.”

Written by Mike of thebeerrater.com based on the original text of “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe.