In which case I shall give it a go! Also you have no idea how much creepier I have become
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
'T is some creeper entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late creeper entreating entrance at my chamber door:
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—
Darkness there, a trail of poptarts, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "It's Katy you son of a gun!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, "Katie?"
Merely this and nothing more, 'cept for the sound of gritting my teeth.
In there stepped a stately northerner of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed he (it is after all, agendered, if not aggressively so);
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Plessis just above my chamber door:
Perched, and sat, giggling like a school girl and nothing more.
Then this ebony nerd beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy hair by short and scruffy thou," I said, "art sure no craven," (The nerve of some people)
Ghastly grim and ancient Manc wandering from the Nightly shore:
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Unshaven (again, jerk), "Nevermore... Until tomorrow"
The end
. And yes, I am sleep deprived.