Once upon a Midnight dreary,
   while I pondered, weak and weary,
   Over many an odd and decaying
   thought of lost amore--
   While I nodded, nearly napping,
   suddenly there came a yapping
   As of someone rabidly ranting,
   ranting, raving more and more.
   "Tis just the wife," I muttered,
   "do this, do that, do some more.
        Only this and nothing more."

   Ah, distinctly I remember,
   wishing to see her dismembered;
   And my separate dying member
   wrought its ghost upon the floor.
   Desperately I wished the morrow--
   as always I try to borrow
   From my thoughts surcease from sorrow--
   hatred towards that rotten whore.
        Nameless here forevermore.

   And the sour, sickening screeching--
   old familiar pointless bitching
   Killed me--filled me with muddled illness
   always felt before;
   So that now, to still the seething
   in my mind, I stood entreating,
   "Please quit this infernal bleating
   coming through my chamber door--
   Quit this infernal, asinine bleating
   coming through my chamber door!"
        Rotten, stinking to the core.