Once upon an evening dreary, while I pondered, sick and bleary
Over many a student essay that could only make me snore,
Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone’s fingers rapping,
Some bubble-bursting snapping just outside my office door.
“Tis some student with a problem, popping gum outside my door.
This it is, and nothing more.”
As the tap grew more insistent, I upstarted, unresistant,
And I grabbed the bust of Elvis that adorns my office floor.
Many times I’ve tripped upon it, and my coffee dripped upon it,
Now my fingers gripped upon it as I headed for the door,
“Stop that popping sound this instant!” I expounded with a roar.
Silence there, and nothing more.
So I flung the door wide open, and I could not help for hopin’
That the maker of the noise had flown as others flown before.
As I cast wild eyes around me, I saw something quite astound me
For somewhere about toe-level was a beetle on the floor.
An awful, staghorn beetle tapping six toes on the floor.
“Click.” It said, and nothing more.
Not a raven, this bold beetle made a beeline for the needle-
Point bag that is my comfort and that holds my earthly store.
In a moment it had ambled to the bag and up it scrambled
And hung on there like a bramble, while I muttered and I swore.
Yes, it clung there like a bramble, while I positively swore.
“Click,” it said, and nothing more.
“Bug!” I yelled, unhappy, “Off my bag, and make it snappy,
Lest I smite thee with an altogether awful smiting roar!”
But the beetle, so annoying, in a manner almost cloying,
Kept its massive antlers toying with the bag that I adore.
Kept its clawlike clutches on the bag that I adore.
“Click,” it said, the thieving boor!
Then I smote him, loudly crying, “I will send your six legs flying!
That’s the thanks you get for eyeing my best bag upon the floor.”
Then with my cane I whacked him, smote him mightily and thwacked him,
Thwacked him back outside my chamber where he smacked upon the floor
Where his awful beetle carcass made a smear upon the floor
“Click?” he muttered. Nothing more.