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The Raven - Baked, Not Fried MAG
Once upon an onion teary, while I chopped it sad and dreary,
Over many a small and helpless onion
from the bottom kitchen drawer -
While I sniffled, nearly weeping, suddenly there came a peeping,
As of something slowly creeping, creeping on my kitchen floor.
'Tis a bird of many feathers taking shelter from the weather.
"'Tis some juicy morsel," I muttered, "creeping on my kitchen floor -
Raven stew and nothing more."
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