as I stood and tried to think
there came a sound a little eerie
over by the kitchen sink.
The leftovers I was trying to ponder
while inventorying and unwrapping
looked with me in curious wonder
toward the ghostly tap-tap-tapping.
“What the heck?” my eloquent speech
forsaking my work mid-chore
turning my eye to this dinnertime breach
while the leftovers quothe, “Nevermore.”
Sleet! Colder than man’s ingratitude!
in spring denunciation
did not reform my attitude
suff’ring from light deprivation.
“Nevermore the spring!” I wail
with every saint and sinner
as winter holds, morose and stale
just like Sunday’s dinner.
With apologies to Poe.