Nevermore Poem by Lum Chabot

Nevermore…
Never aught nor naught
Would visit him, no thoughts
Upon the mind of an elder, saught
Met him though, a little floe of Not.

He stared at birds, flying all around
Yet he hear not their sounds,
The cooing; flapping of wings in faithful bounds,
He heard the fall of old feathers
In weather nicer than which bedizened the day, whether
Colour or shape differ, they fall together
Like the flowers of youth, to wreathe around this bellwether,
Yet plumes are invisible to him, though not to others,
As the rain hit his shoulder, he rose with a stutter.

The old man realized a pigeon among doves,
And so he fell down, back to high above.