Like poems?

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.
Then the bird said Nevermore.
Okay, just two times more, just cause it is you.

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
Doubtless, said I, what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of Never—nevermore.

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinxing, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking Nevermore.

jdNL5... somehow I miscalculated and created one more than needed (bonus giveaway, not 6th)