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A poem delivered by a Raven on the windowsill of Marie Laveau's cottage in New Orleans during a Vodun ritual.

"My master said for me to come, and find this room, and find the one

Who suffers words made from spite, heartless words feigned contrite.

Now this room doth succor sweet, she thrills to life of tiny feet,

So, to this stage this Raven flies to quiz the one who loves such lies.

Be off, be gone, I do implore, and quoth the Raven – Nevermore.


"You must foresake your trite command, we shall not yeild to Herne's remand.

Dost thou not see, O foolish one, dost thou not realize Herne has won?

Sail on, O foolish man of flesh, this night, this room, I doth protest;

It's foul of breath and stenched in lies; cannot you see before your eyes

What foolish dreams thou hast dreamt? O ship of fools, such vain contempt!


Grown thou so weak and worn so weary, you yeild thy soul to quath and fury?

No! We shall not yeild to this remand, instead we take thee by thy hand,

And lead thy soul to sacred well, where dreams of fools we doth dispell,

And freshen souls with spirits sweet, with waters pure, with less deceit.

Rise! Have this woman clean thy core, thy soul be entered nevermore.