Once upon a Monday, in the midst of a great game,
While I pondered, weak and weary, feeling football’s sting and pain,
Over many a thrilling quarter, the teams began to play,
A battle fierce between the Lions and the Ravens on display.
“‘Tis just a game,” I muttered, “no need for hopes to wane—
But it’s the Lions who shall win, the Ravens' fate is plain.”
Then, a roar like thunder booming—raucous, wild, and insane—
It was the Lions, roaring louder, sweeping through the rain!
"Tell me, why," I said, "so brash, with claws so fierce and keen,
Do you chase the Ravens down like nothing I’ve ever seen?"
Quoth the Lions, "Nevermore."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the gloomy third,
That the Ravens, faltering, stumbled, defeated by a word.
With the ball in hand, the Lions surged, their hearts ablaze with pride,
While the Ravens, struggling, faltered on the field they tried to hide.
On a fumble—oh, so clumsy!—came the roar from every stand—
A lion's pride, its claws intact, its victory in hand.
It was no more the Ravens’ time; their quest was all but done,
For the Lions led with power, their work far from being won.
"Tell me, O mighty Lions, tell me, why this game’s to last?"
Quoth the Lions, “We’ll roar on, victory’s in the past!”
Then a shadow crossed the field—each raven flew away,
While Lions rumbled through the night, their victory on display.
And the crowd began to chant, with chants that rang so true,
“Detroit’s finest, roaring loud, the Ravens we outgrew!”
And the Lions, with their fierce pride, continued on their way,
As the Ravens slunk away in silence, hiding from the fray.
For the Lions’ might was clear to see, and victory was sure—
And every soul would say it loud: "Detroit, we’re here for more!"
Quoth the Lions, “Nevermore.