Tuesday, June 17, 2014


The Duchess of Kendall  had a large raven
Which flew into her room on the day
George I died. Convinced it was the King,
Her lover, she took care of it fondly
And, though reputed miserly, fed it
The very finest carrion and worms.
After her death, the raven was little seen
Until he turned up in a footnote to a poem
By Lord Byron. (Some think from there
He was borrowed by Edgar Allen Poe.)
I have read King Arthur is now a raven
Waiting the hour of
Britain's greatest need
King George, though, seems content
To flock with the poets though in life
He’d no use for them. His laureate,
Nicholas Rowe, haunts Westminster still
His pension three centuries in arrears.

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