Those Raven Summer Nights

Author's Note
I'm no poet. I can't read it properly out loud, and short of rhyming couplets I can barely write it either. Most poetry I don't even get, but sometimes it touches me; especially if it's read well by someone who knows what they're doing.
Edgar Allen Poe's poem "The Raven" is probably my favourite. Poems that rhyme with perfect rhythm – like Banjo Patterson's "The Man from Snowy River" (or anything beginning "Roses Are Red" for that matter) – are easy; they're like a song without music. But The Raven is hard. It has rhyming words; but they're presented in twos, threes and even fours with difficult cadence and a varying number of syllables to cram in-between. You really have to work it to read it properly, otherwise you end up sounding like a goose.
James Earl Jones (aka Darth Vader) reads it well. In fact, it was his version mashed up in The Simpsons "Treehouse of Horrors" that helped me fall in love with the piece. The Raven is dark and foreboding and The Simpsons are fun and witty and immature, so it could have been a matchup like ice-cream and ketchup; but somehow it just worked.
I recently ran across another funny/geeky parody of "The Raven" called "Quoth the Server 404". I wanted to have a go at it myself, so I paired Poe's masterpiece for contrasting effect with the froth and bubbles of "Summer Nights" from the movie/musical Grease. "The Raven" is quite long at eighteen stanzas; so mine being a parody (and not actual poetry) I thought it worthy of no more than three. After that the joke is kind of over.
Enjoy. And please be kind in your comments.

~~~

Once upon an autumn breeze, a lean and lanky teenage greaser
Told a ribald story of the summer gone before
From atop the schoolyard bleachers, rude and misbegotten creatures
Hanging like a pack of leeches, cajoling, did you score?
"A blast I had" he uttered, then he swiftly shut his jaw
Only that and nothing more

Meanwhile upon the lunchtime benches, Rydell's most exotic wenches
Sang of summer love along the golden Jersey Shore
Sandra-Dee the teenage wonder, songstress from the land down-under
Her thighs were never drawn asunder, she was – said she – no whore
Home every night by ten o'clock, most earnestly she swore
Quoth the pink ladies, "Tell me more"

Their love shone with volcanic light, those steamy uh-oh summer nights
Or so we're led to understand from the PG13 score
But then alas their summer dreams, were torn apart, ripped at the seams
Danny cries and Sandy screams, their love can be no more
What once burned hot now ashes, scattered thinly on the floor
Shall be rekindled, nevermore