Ode to Moon Hunter (forgive me, Edgar!)
Once upon a midnight’s weary, while I pondered meek and teary
There came a tapping, a gentle rapping, at my chamber door
‘Twas the Moon Hunter, not a santa, not a whore, not a pizza to pay for.
Brazenly, he strode across my floor, having been here times before.
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in arse-cold December
And my fire but an ember, and I expected to be napping
but he shook me, gums a’flapping, sat me down and shared his lore.
I Quoth the Moon Hunter, evermore!
Then me’thinks, the air grew denser, perfumed by some forgotten censer
and the Hunter stood reclining, there beside the velvet lining, and began his wise divining.
And verily he spoke.
Tell me, is there any sage a’wiser? Sharing knowledge like a geyser?
Any prophet more prophetic? Any genius so energetic?
Any mystic as intense? Tell me quick, you flighty twit
Before I even think to sit.
Nay, I prattled, no one else! Thy brain is paranormal!
But have a toddy, rest your feet, there’s no need to be formal.
Then the Hunter, still beguiling, forced my sad face into smiling
As he stood there, gently winking, the man taught me the art of linking
as I sat there, heavy-drinking. Then, alas, we turned to google, while I baked the sage a strudel.
(you try rhyming something with google).
This and that, his wit exploring, and not a single word was boring,
he had called it mental-soaring, wisdom-knocking at my core!
I Quoth the Moon Hunter, evermore!
There I sat, engaged and guessing, at which next topic he’d be addressing,
but no syllable expressing, not a peep from me at all.
Feverishly, I began a'mapping, while he started his golf-clapping,
all the knowledge I had learned, as his mind just churned and churned.
Only once I needed rising, bathroom break, not so surprising,
and fiercely did I stoke the hearth, before we moved along to Aarth.
Later still, I wouldn’t mind swearin’, the Hunter unlocked the gates of Kerren!
I still remember the compiling, of all the notes and careful filing, of all the Lore of Lores and more.
I Quoth the Moon Hunter evermore!
Night outside my chamber door, by then had reached a quarter’ four,
the snow had settled with gentle ease, upon the Autumndale Trees.
And faster came the tales of gnosis, my brain to his, a thick molasses.
And yet I managed to learn more!
I Quoth the Moon Hunter, evermore!
And the Hunter, never flitting, kept on talking, never sitting,
there beside my fireplace, a knowing grin upon his face.
Just that once he stopped to marvel, making me feel a tad bit larval,
when he spoke of a certain smell,
which reminded him of the Garage-Sale from Hell
Quickly engaging in subject-changing, my last week’s socks while rearranging,
I asked the sage, nay did implore, for one more tale of ancient yore!
The Hunter smiled but shook his head, and glanced at me askew instead.
No more tales you’ll hear of mine,
instead take my Top Ten Tips for two-thousand and nine!
And only then began withdrawing, as I settled back to snoring,
did the sage, with slight, curt, bow,
and all I could think to myself was, wow!
His very last words before departing, like angel's songs,
as he went darting, for me quite bitter-sweet and smarting,
and whispered just beneath his breath,
gifting me yet more mental wealth.
I know you think my leave is tragic,
but remember me thusly;
go read Garan-The Name of Magic!
Now as I wise-man, I say as before,
I Quoth the Moon Hunter, evermore!
