(With my apologies to E.A. Poe)


Son, upon this midnight dreary, we did ponder, weak and weary
Over your extremely cheery kind epistolary lore —
While I freely acquiesced to your filial request,
your dear Pater was distressed. To be honest, dear, he swore:
“’Tis some madness here”, he muttered, “tapping at his chamber door!”
Only this, and nothing more.

My resolve grew only stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “now listen! Truly, your attention I implore!
Frequently, despite his station, you bemoaned his isolation.
Grant him, pray, the exultation of new playmates to explore.”
At this point I’d almost swayed him. Just a tiny push before
he’d consent — and nothing more.

Then the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of a purple curtain
did announce that Aloysius had just entered through our door.
“Mother, Father!” rang his cries. “Do you really think this wise?
Who’ll be there to check his vice, on this dark and distant shore?
Can you really let him stay there?” was your brother’s wild outpour.
Quoth your father: “Nevermore!”

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