I write for that curious Girl Scout cadet of troop 136, for the shy, pouty,
I can’t WAIT to grow up little girl that brushed out her curls right before picture time. I wanted to look like the older girls at school. So I created my own swoop bang. LOL

I write for that big sister who entertained her younger siblings by reading (and singing) to them. Oh how I loved that. I’d sit in our green,
paisley chair. My siblings sat crossed leg on the green shag carpet while I read The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe. I’d shout out, “Quote the Raven!”
My siblings dramatically chorused, “Nevermore.” It was one of our favorites. We did not understand many of the words. Yet, we were affected by the mood of the poem. There was this sorrow. Of what we did not know. Not until our Tante’ Lula warned us about ravens.
"They’re a sign you know."  The poem took on a whole new meaning for us. Being from the rural south, signs or superstitions are taken seriously. “Quote the Raven, Nevermore!  Nevermore!”  So THAT’S the sorrow. Death. With Tante’ Lula’s help, we instantly concluded that someone Poe loved (his sister, or wife, or grandmother) had died. As a tribute,
we re-wrote Poe’s poem (we were a very musical group and quite the prolific storytellers). Now, we couldn't go outside while our parents were at work, so we had a lot of time on our hands, yall:

It was a cold dark night when the black bird came     

He was very very still on our picture frame.  

We said, “Go away bird, go away from our door.”  

And the bird said back “Nevermore, Nevermore. “ 

The bird just said back, “Nevermore.”  

Hey, we were in elementary school! Crude but effective and fun for us (smile).