Dreamlands (I and II)

tinyurl.com/dream-lands

           ( I • a voice in the night )

for some of us
perhaps
it came as a drive to power
to do
to control
to reshape the world

for others of us
perhaps
it came as a quest for wisdom
to know
to understand
to contain the world

for others of us
perhaps
it came as a call to worship
to adore
to venerate
to glorify the world

and who will say
that one alone
is the one true way
or that all of these together
are the only ways there are

for some of us
for me
it came as a quiet voice in the night
listen
it said
i have a tale to tell you
i have a verse to recite
i have a song to sing
i have a tune to play
listen
or
look

and i would wake up with that whisper echoing in my ears

or see upon the black ceiling of my darkened room
words spelled out in glowing crystalline letters
lines that brought tears to my eyes
and half-choked sobs to my throat

lucky i was
if i could write them down
before they faded from my sight

i have wandered in the dreamlands
and brought back these souvenirs

but how could i have a drive to power
there of all places
or seek to chart and map
where even the roads shift about
or glorify
what has all the glory it will ever need

i am led
by the hand
by the word
by the song
by the dance

through the unutterably fair
through the unspeakably foul

through the many-coloured land
through the land of no colours

and if the dance leads to a pleasant summer grove
or over the edge of a tall sheer cliff above rocky terrain

should i complain
who chose to follow

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/avoiceinthenight-mp3

---

           ( II • Dreamlands )

I hold no title
in the Dreamlands
no lord or master
there am I
only a visitor
tourist or guest
but I know the language
a little
and the natives speak with me
sometimes
and I listen
every chance I get
and write down
all I can remember
and repeat what I learn
some of it

which is to be a poet

Come see my souvenirs

These words here
I copied from a scroll of flame
on a high cliff
where light danced along the mountaintops
and the stars stood like warriors
arrayed against the dawn
Whenever I read them
my fingers burn

And these I found
in a gem the size of my fist
that glowed pale blue in the night
If you breathe them as you sleep
they take you to a cavern cool and deep
where a river shines in the dark
its water glows in your cupped hands
and if you drink
it gives clear vision
to find your way

Here now
these I found
written in water
on the surface of a sea
roiled and stirred
by great flukes
and seaweed beard
and craggy crown
and league-long trident
sloshing ocean
like a narrow tub

These fragments
are left of what I heard
to music of pipes playing
deep in the woods
they faded in the distance
but I did not follow
I was afraid
it would not be me
that followed

Names shift in the dreamlands
shapes and faces flow
meanings alter
selves blend or fade
from some roads
there is no returning
unchanged

Things I did not know before visiting
I knew afterward
Things I knew for certain before
I could never be sure of again

People I have met in the Dreamlands
what their waking form was I do not know
one man dark and brooding
another whose brow shone like a star
a woman who laughed and sang of love
another shy and wistful
who turned and ran when I approached

Their songs were lovely
heartbreaking and pure
but upon awaking
I did not know their language
and could not write them down

Sometimes I flew
black-feathered swift-winged harsh-voiced
to carry messages
a favor for a favor
strange messages
for stranger folk
a rock-sprung shining soldier in a cap
a one-eyed grey-bearded lord
ice-fishers woodsmen and hunters
or creatures of clouded shapes
never quite the same
between instants

More happened than I can tell you
more than I can tell myself
some things cannot be told
you must go there yourself

There is no passport I can give you
no golden needle or graven plate
but when you go there
heed me
watch carefully
listen to all you hear
and upon awaking
write down
all you can remember
and repeat what you learn
some of it

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/dreamlands-mp3

© 1993 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

This Too Is...

tinyurl.com/thistoois

Once I told someone who wanted “to understand the Goddess as a spiritual being” but wanted some actual experience to complement all the books:

Don't sweat the theoretical theology. Spend some time just living.

Dance. Dance in crowds, with friends, in pairs, or alone. Find a Celtic ceilidh (KAY-lee) somewhere, and learn its folk dances. Or watch “Zorba the Greek” and imitate the steps. Or do Tai Ch’i Ch’uan. Dance until you feel the energy running through you like fire. Place your hand upon your chest, over your beating heart, and say to yourself:

          “This too is alive. This too is divine.”

Sit and hold a cat or a dog, or a child, or a friend, or a lover, warm against you, until they sleep at peace. Feel their breathing, and say:

          “This too is alive. This too is divine.”

Walk among the plants of a field or forest, park or backyard garden, watching them drink in the sun — and again in moonlight or starlight, hearing small animals calling out to each other, prolific life unseen, until you realize how filled with activity, with sometimes desperate attempts to find (and not become) food, this “still life” really is. Lie on the grass, or wade into the pond or stream, and say:

          “This too is alive. This too is divine.”

Look out sometimes, out and up, to the sun and the moon and the stars. Marvel at the scale, the sheer inconceivable size, of our universe, and the equally incomprehensible scale of the thing we call “time”. Say:

          “This too is alive. This too is divine.”

After that, read any book in your stack. Or none of them. Whatever.

---

... and even when your body’s old,
and winter winds blow bitter cold,
then over hearthfire’s welcome heat
you’ll lean, and from that fireside seat
your voice will rise to bless the flame;
then, rocking gently, call the name
of all you worship, all you love,
all life on earth, all light above.

This too is dance. This too is song.

In all of these you dance along
with everyone who lived upon
the earth — no matter if they’re gone,
their dance continues — and when you
are gone, your dance continues, too.

Let those with wit to see the rhyme
within my words, see within time
just such a pattern hidden deep:
within the pendulum’s slow sweep,
within all fate, within all chance;
for all of time is but a dance.

— C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/thistoois-mp3

[ and the man says ]

tinyurl.com/themansays

and the man says
        listen brothers listen sisters
        I bring you the word of god
        for I have spoken with him
        place your hands on the TV set
        or the radio
        and pray with me
this is the laying on of hands
        now send me your money
        all that you can afford
        and all that you cannot
this is the tithe

listen to me mister preacher man
I don’t need you to tell me the word of god
I have a bible too
and if I didn’t
it would be five dollars or fifty cents or free
at a church or religious society

but if a man tells me that it is outdated
that he has more recent information
that he has just come from talking with god
himself
personally
then that man is either
a god blessed saint
or a god damned liar
and if that man is wearing
a five hundred dollar suit
in front of a fifty thousand dollar TV camera
and he is asking me to send him my money
so that he can feed the poor
or serve god
then you know which one
of the two possibilities
I believe

I can think for myself
just as anyone else can
they don’t have to listen to me
to tell them how to think or what to think
and they sure don’t have to listen to you
I know and they know

the first rule is be good to other people
that’s hard enough
its worth spending a life learning how to do
and if we manage that
we can start on the second lesson
but until we get the first one right
there’s no way we can do the rest
and there’s no use boasting about
how close you are to god
when you are light years away
from the man in rags standing next to you

tell a poor man or a hungry child
about how god loves him
or how you do
which is the same thing in your mind it seems
when he can see the rich folks zooming by
not stopping
in their cars and planes
and he can see your suit glitter
in the lights
and he can see his family suffer
in the cold
and do you think he believes you
get him food and clothing and shelter for his family
and teach him how to keep getting it on his own
not depending on pity
and you will not need to tell him
he will believe you

but there is a child
dear god there are thousands
going hungry to school
because mama sent the money
from the welfare check
to the preacher
instead of buying food
and the child is too hungry to think
and if he cant think he cant learn
and if he cant learn
he will go hungry all his life

and the man in rags is walking down a street tonight
in the cold
with everything he owns in a paper bag
walking past the warm TV studio
in the cold
walking past the warm houses
in the cold
and he is going to die tonight
in the cold
because everyone is watching the preacher on TV
and getting closer to god
so they don’t need to go out
in the cold
and bring a smelly beggar inside
out of the cold
and feed him or give him a place to sleep
out of the cold
or care enough to
treat him like a human being
or save his life
after all
their souls have already been saved
by the preacher

so you can ask anyone else on this street
who in america today
is the holiest man
and he may tell you
billygrahamoralrobertsherbertarmstrong
or maybe you
but if you ask me
who in america today
has done the most evil in the name of good
I will tell you

© 1984 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/themansays-mp3

Two Songs of Courtly Love

tinyurl.com/2courtly

          What KIND of Courtly?
                    (For what kind of Court?)
          Love that’s pure? Or love for sport?
          Love that’s chaste and innocent?
          Or earthy lust, for merriment?

                    (How about one of each?)

As a pairing, in memoriam the 12th century Gascon poet-musician Marcabru, of whom Peter Sirr writes that the “[h]is favourite subject... was the contrast of fin’ amors (pure, perfect love) and amars (the sensual courtly love praised by his contemporaries)”.

          THE LONELY LOVER’S LAMENT

Oh, my lady is sweet, and I think she is neat,
And you’d think just the same if you met her:
She’s perfection complete, from her head to her feet;
In this world, I could love no-one better.

Yet I sit here and cry, and you may ask me why —
If I love her, then what is the matter?
The trouble is, I am so terribly shy
That I’ve never quite dared to look at her!

I’m too nervous to speak, and my voice starts to squeak
Every time that I try to talk to her;
But if I weren’t meek, she might think it was cheek,
So I haven’t the courage to woo her.

How I wish I could be a bold hero so free
Who could bravely and proudly pursue her,
For the passion we’d see would reshape history...
If I weren'’t so mild and demure!

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/lament-mp3

On the authority of Bernart de Ventadorn, 12th century Occitan troubadour:

Mas greu veiretz fin' amansa
ses paor e ses doptansa,
c'ades tem om vas so c'ama, falhir,
per qu'eu no·m aus de parlar enardir.

But true love comes, not so lightly
Without fear and with no doubting,
We always fear that what we love may fail,
So I don't dare to stir myself to speak.

— "Ab joi mou lo vers e·l comens", line 13; translation by James H. Donalson.

---

                    (and the flip side:)

          OF ROSEMARY AND TIME

‘Tis a trick to be quick as a clock that goes tick-tick,
And a gift to be swift (well, SOMEtimes, ye catch my drift?); *
But I know to be slow when with lady friend I go,
Spend an hour in her tower, or a soft and shady bower.

For I can kiss a hand, and then be a patient man,
Let her find her own mind, and decide to be so kind
As to grace kiss on face, asking me to please unlace
Garb so tight, dim the light, and regale the merry night

With a song, not too long; and it never would be wrong
To caress her, and bless every shining braided tress;
Does no harm to put arm all around her body warm,
And to sip at her lip, and so lightly stroke her hip,

Kiss her neck, just a peck, and then follow at her beck,
Lay her head on a bed clothed in shiny satin red....
But no more, lest I bore you with too much tale in store;
Brief to say, comes the day, and I must be on my way!

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/rosemary-mp3

Both © 1994 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

* Performance note: For "quick" through "swift", be flirtacious toward a clearly "attached" lady; at "SOMEtimes" notice her attached lord, and discreetly skedaddle to the side, shifting eye contact to a lady who is at least less clearly attached; play the remainder to her. You're a man who knows when to run.

Passage

tinyurl.com/pass-age

When I think how the winds of Fall
Now soothe my hot tormented frame,
I wonder that I feared at all
The fading of the Summer’s flame,
Or longed to keep those fiery rays
From passing with the length of days.

The calmness of the Autumn breeze,
The unrushed comfort of cool skies,
Give me an unknown sense of ease
And freedom from those fervent cries
That always, in a younger age,
Had urged me to desire and rage.

With hints of such new things in store,
And diff’rent measures than I'd used,
I now anticipate life more,
Look forward, and can be amused
At my old doubts; nor shall I fear
The Winter that will close this year.

© 1990 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/passage-mp3

Wolf Messiah

tinyurl.com/wolf0messiah
History...
is a nightmare
from which I am trying to awake.
— James Joyce

[From a Usenet post of 20 December 2003:]

“wyldhunt” wrote [in part, responding to Eric Smith posting “The Gospel Poem”:]

> lest they be burned and tortured for all eternity
> by the god of love and understanding

Mmmm, since the “Gospel” times there are historical changes in Christian beliefs and practices, mixing the benevolence of the early years with the ferocity of the later Crusades and witch-hunts. This leaves the genuinely benevolent liable to be tarred with the viciousness of others, while the vicious lay claim to the mantle of the benevolent.

For one thing, that “burned and tortured for all eternity” seems not to have been what Jesus was talking about. He was referring to a place where corpses were taken to be burned, and to worms eating other corpses; in essence saying, “If your soul is not saved, then the final end of you will be that your body is burned or the worms eat it.” Nothing eternal in that — in fact, the whole point is that this is an *end*, not eternal.

For another thing, the oppressive methods (justified by Augustine of Hippo) of conversion and correction by fire and sword were adopted as enforcing a state religion. Before the Roman Empire was Christianized, methods just as harsh were used to enforce worship of the emperor’s spirit (“genius”) — in fact, Christians were put to death for their failure to perform that worship.

So this appears to be a trait of a state religion (no matter which), rather than of Christianity itself. One more argument for separating church & state.

Arguably, the blame for the religious wars and persecutions, from Imperial times through Charlemagne and Savonarola, to the Irish Troubles, are not so much due to Christian belief as to the yet-untamed savagery of its adherents.

Cannibals converted to Christianity might well observe their old traditions in the form of the Communion. (Preacher say, this my body, this my blood — and him tasty, too.)

Sharks would worship a Shark-Christ, wolves would venerate a Wolf Messiah.

I wrote a poem on this subject, inspired by Robert Eisler’s Man Into Wolf, An Anthropological Investigation of Sadism, Masochism, and Lycanthropy (1952), which I suspect helped inspire Jack Williamson’s brilliant dark fantasy Darker Than You Think.

Eisler just barely survived the camps run by the sadists (werewolves?) of Nazi Germany, and delivered the lecture which is the core of this book, in London before dying a few years after the war

He traces the psychological traits of compulsive violence, and of obsession with becoming a beast, back to the evolution of humanity as omnivores, in tribes some of which became killer-omnivores (carnivore totem) preying upon, or conquering and breeding with, vegetarian (plant and herbivore totem) tribes.

This “split ancestry” paradigm links the old Mongolian legends of human origin (in the marriage of a Wolf-man and a Deer-woman), to the Græco-Roman and medieval myths of furred forest-dwelling savages, to the two fashions for women in mid-century England — the meek wearing flowered prints and fruit-plate hats, the bold wearing fur coats and blood-red claw-shaped fingernails. (Which fashion attends the men of power? Perhaps the carnivores still rule.) Food for thought.

If indeed the human ruling class are the heirs of the predators (marked by fur and claws on the women), and the ruled class descend from the prey, is it any wonder that, occasionally, frustrated men and women, lacking power and position yet still urged by throwback impulses to seize them, might dream of predatory aggression, of becoming feared instead of fearful, strong instead of weak, of gaining the sign of power? Perhaps the will to power is the essential drive of lycanthropy.

    Wolf Messiah
             by
     C.M. Joserlin

Once all the scattered tribes survived
On grain and fruit and growing foods;
Then human wolf-packs rose, and thrived
By preying on plant-eating broods.

The wolves ruled sheep. Of course it seemed
They always would, until the Lamb
Arrived, whose visionaries dreamed
Of sheep-kind saved and wolf-kind damned.

They sought and slew him by their laws,
The killer folk, the wolfish horde,
Then took the Christ up as their cause
To spread the faith with fire and sword.

So for the gentle Prince of Peace
They issued calls to Holy War;
Let unbelievers never cease
To fear the Christ Pantocrator.

The flames grew bright across the land
To save the souls of sheep who erred,
But Wolf-Christ learned a gentler hand;
Now others wished the wolf's teeth bared.

While man became a wolf to man, *
The original “hero wolf” fought savage wars,
And followed conquest with a plan
To which “cleanse the world” of herbivores.

No longer the old-fashioned pyres
In which the helpless sheep folk screamed;
From modern and efficient fires
In furnaces, their ashes streamed.

The shepherds fought the Wolf, and won,
And now his dreams of empire lie
In ashes — yes, that wolf is gone;
Now “Peace on Earth”, the wishful cry.

But still the shaggy past prevails,
And people yearn to get and keep
A furry coat, sharp teeth and nails;
To rule as wolf, not serve as sheep.

And still the wolf-messiah’s power
Recruits his followers afresh:
Each week they gather to devour
The lamb-messiah’s blood and flesh.

—(“Say, brrotherrr, are you washed in the blood of the lamb?”)—

* In 1927 Bartolomeo Vanzetti, a 39-year-old condemned as a dangerous anarchist and sentenced to die for a murder which he did not commit, told the Massachusetts court, "Your laws, your institutions, and your false god, [will be] but a dim remembering of a cursed past in which man was wolf to the man." At that time, Adolf Hitler (whose name means "Conquering Wolf"), a 38-year-old war veteran praised as a savior of law and order, was just six years away from national dictatorship in Germany.

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/wolfmessiah-mp3

The Rôle of the God

tinyurl.com/rolegd

[Originally posted as a reply in a men-only discussion board called “The God” on PODSnet.]

The men were gathered ’round the fire, to speak of what should be.
Up stood and quoth the great MacFinn, a mighty warrior he:

> the whole point is to get away from feminine influences and reassert
> the God aspect of life. Hunter, warrior and Lord of the forest.
> Herne is his true state.

They nodded, but reluctant, for life womanless is hard;
Then came these words from Raven, the free-roving Gypsy bard:

“What, run away from women, you call THAT a warrior’s creed?
To FLEE the field of battle of the sexes is our need?

I think NOT, my feisty fighter; I’m afraid I fail your test,
For joining in that battle is the game I love the best.

The hunt is on, the game’s afoot, a lovely lass is she;
And ere the night is done, the battle will a victor see.

ONE victor, did I say? Oh, no! At least there will be TWO:
For both are won, and both will win, when man and woman woo.

If, as the saying has it, bare (if brotherless) is back,
So Lordship’s cold and empty, if a Lord doth Lady lack.

So — “Hunter, warrior, Lord” — agreed, these attributes are good;
But add one other — “Lover” — if the God be understood.

For I feel my strongest Manhood, and am closest to the God,
When, at my lady’s touch, my own cold emptiness is thawed;

And then my trusting heart with Godlike energy is filled,
For Perfect Love and Trust are what the God and Goddess willed.

But... “Herne’s his TRUE STATE” — is that really what I heard you say?
My brother, are you trying now to preach of “One True Way”?

Oh come now, jesting’s over, sober up and let’s be real.
Is there no other aspect of the God that you can feel?

The Lover of the Lady — sometimes Pluto, sometimes Pan;
The Son beloved of the Mother (true of every man);

The wounded and the dying God, the sacrificial King;
The risen and returning God, reborn with every Spring;

Are not these other aspects just as real, and just as “True”,
As Herne the Hunter? Don’t they call as loud and strong to you?

My brother, sit and think awhile, and see what thoughts are born.
Good night, my lady’s waiting — so I’ll see you in the morn!"

He walked from firelight, into shadow, singing out a song;
They heard him in the distance, later, laughing loud and long.

© 1994 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/rolegd-mp3

The Feast of Saint Bunstable

tinyurl.com/feast-bunstable

Composed en route to the Feast of St. Bunstable, a medievalist event
then held in the Barony of Jaravellir (Madison WI).

The Feast of Saint Bunstable, brewer,
Is attended by hundreds, no fewer;
     There stories are heard
     How his sainthood occurred,
In versions both older and newer.

Just as much of south Britain has claimed
Local towns once were “Camelot” named,
     Or they had Merlin’s Cave,
     Or good King Arthur’s grave,
So this tale is on many sites blamed.

But I choose to believe it was Erin,
County Limerick, or someplace therein,
     That a monastic Celt,
     Brother Bunstable, dwelt,
At a hall many monks said their prayer in.

For an abbey to be spic-and-spandy,
Every monk at some task must be handy:
     So this brother divine
     Made the sacrament wine,
And the beer, and the ale, and the brandy.

Now, the Fin-Galls (the Norse) had a liking
To go raiding — as they called it, “Viking”;
     Once they sought out the word of
     This brewer they’d heard of,
In order their drinks to be spiking.

“Deår mønks,” said the Vikings, “since yøü’re
Süppøsed to be søber ånd püre,
     We’ll help yøü by tåking
     The brews yøü’ve been måking,
Før we’ve cøme tø såck yøü, yåh süre!”

While all of this trouble was stewing,
Our good brewer his duty was doing:
     “I am portly and stout,
     But I canna’ run out
And leave all of these drinks I’ve been brewing!

“Lest the Fin-Galls should pillage my store,
All the brews down my gullet I’ll pour!”
     Thus he emptied the kegs,
     Then on unsteady legs
He confronted the Norse at the door.

“Shtand back, men of war!” he intoned.
“Shack my abbey? I shay you won’t!
     I am filled with the shpirit,
     Sho don’t you come near it,
Or I’ll breathe on you — shee if I don’t!”

With these words, at their torches he blew,
And the fumes from his spiritous brew
     Made a great ball of flame,
     So the thought to all came:
“He breathes fire!” — and the Vikings withdrew.

Now, some say that ball of blue fire
Took Bunstable higher and higher,
     ’Till he vanished away,
     In Heaven to stay,
A feat which we all should admire.

But I heard that Bunstable stayed
On Earth, where he brewed and he prayed,
     And lived out his days
     In a jolly old haze;
And a well-preserved abbot he made.

When he passed, in reply to God’s call,
The good monks of Saint Bunstable’s hall
     Laid their stout-hearted peer
     To rest on his bier...
But his spirit’s alive in us all!

© 1992 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/bunstable-mp3

A Cantrip to Catch Killers

tinyurl.com/cantrip-catch-killers

[First posted on Usenet in December 1994, the verse has been reposted several times since, e.g. September 2001.]

---

magi...@world.std.com (Gwendolyn M Piper) writes:
| Something evil walks in Massachusetts.
|
| At ten-fifteen this morning, the thirtieth
| of December, two abortion clinics in Brookline
| were attacked by one or possibly two gunmen,
| presumably of the Fundie variety....
|
| Two are dead, seven are wounded.

The awen is upon me. Hear:

I speak no spell offending the Rede of “harm ye none”,
But chant this charm intending that justice will be done:
Let truth be found for mending the wrong these killers brought,
To infamy unending for all the goals they sought.

Let truth be told in every word, the killers’ hiding places;
Let truth be seen and truth be heard, the killers’ names and faces.

That none need longer wonder who drove them to this deed,
Provoked this fatal blunder, inspired them with a creed,
Let lies be torn asunder to show their hidden guide;
Let this be published under the tale of those who died.

Let truth be told for all to know, the guilty ones be named;
May killers and their leaders show their face and be ashamed.

Three times this charm recited, the Furies to invoke;
Thricefold these Three invited to judge the words I spoke.
“Return threefold” incited against abusive spells;
May I thus be indicted if truth against me tells.

Let truth be told, I say again, no matter where it‘s hidden;
And be they women, be they men, their full exposure bidden.

---

[As a point of ethics, be it noted that this verse is not a “curse”, as it does not ask for harm to be done to anyone, only for truth to be told... and that equitably, on both (or all) sides. Truth, goes the saying, has a power of its own.]

© 1994 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/cantrip-mp3

Why Be Caws

tinyurl.com/whybecaws

In memoriam Martin Gardner (1914-2010),
editor of The Annotated Alice (1960)

A raven’s like a writing-desk in that
You’ll find both in woods and dens, whereat
     Both have flaps, legs, and bills,
     Both possess inky quills,
And both produce notes that are flat.

Their traces are left all around,
On the walls and the stalls and the ground;
     But sometimes the laws
     May require they give ‘​cause’
Whereby they may hold what they’ve found.

They may never say words, yet — no joke —
With the harshest of voices they’ve spoke;
     And though Poe wrote on both,
     Yet I give you my oath,
They’ve done more on him since his croak.

© 2004 C.M. Joserlin, “Raven”

(Some of these individual solutions had been offered by other authors in Gardner’s 1960 volume.)

[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]

MP3 URL: tinyurl.com/whybecaws-mp3