(With a nod to E. A. Poe)
Once upon a morning early, when the fog lay thick and pearly,
I sat wond’ring whether Sam had opened up the store.
While I sat there almost napping, suddenly there came a tapping.
Who could come so early rapping, rapping at my fish house door?
‘Tis some early morning jogger.
Only this and nothing more.
Sure no civil word I uttered. “For God’s sake go away,” I muttered.
“Run your mile, you crashing bore.”
I was feeling stiff and stringey; then the door creaked rusty hingey
An old black shag stepped dark and dingey through my open fish house door.
On my work bench stepped he deftly, walking stately, rightly leftly.
“Will you tell me future’s secrets? Is that what you came here for?
Will lobsters crowd into my traps? Stand in line in rows perhaps?
Will the price of shedders soar?”
“That will be the frosty morning,”
Said the shag, and nothing more.
Then he spread his black-as-coal wings. Did this creature really know things?
Things no bird had ever told to fishermen before?
“Will my ancient engine fail me? Will the Coast Guard cutter hail me?
Will I freeze in winter snow-gale, gale from out an arctic door?”
“That will be the frosty morning,”
Said the shag and nothing more.
“Now, you black-winged bird of evil, cross between a bat and devil,
I will ask you something easy, question often asked before.
Will this wretched fog lift early, or just lie here thick and pearly?
Can I haul my traps before sunset’s fading from the shore?”
“It has always cleared before,”
Said the shag and nothing more.
Then that wretched ugly creature, hatched without redeeming feature,
Turned his back on further question, wouldn’t answer any more.
Then despite my crusty stammer, picked his way twixt plane and hammer,
Fluttered out my fish house door.
Left his card and nothing more.
— Roger F. Duncan