From: Joseph Abel
I could stand some orignial sinning...all of mine seem so un-original now, after hearing what some of you folks are up to...
Anyone have some good suggestions?
Edited to add: NO!! That does NOT fit in there!!!
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded off, and started dreaming of some original sinning,
suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping,
rapping at my mind, weak and weary though it might have been,
now aflutter with ideas and images filing it full.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
Waiting for the Friday work to be over,
Eagerly I wished the fun to start; - vainly I had sought to borrow
on it early, to my regret.
Back to work! quoth the raven.
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
truly I do, especially the part where I do not recall your gender,
gentle boss, but I rest here a-dreaming of the weekend to come,
please do not bother me now, not so close to the end of the day.
Deep into that darkness of the computer screen peering,
long I sat there wondering, fearing,
When would the boss turn and walk away? When will I be able to goof off and play?
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
that I might be able to spend a little time away, while still being paid,
But the silence was unbroken, and the form of the boss stood there unbroken.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Why, it's the blackbird of work!
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me true, tell me straight, when will I be freed from this plight?
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
How can I nevermore be freed from this work?
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
ever was as trapped as I on this weary rainy Friday.
Bird or boss above the employee's desk,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
Of when will you leave me, of boss of lore?
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other bosses have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me be, as the morrow is shuttered.'
Then the boss said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what boss utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master even above the boss whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
Oh, does the boss that does not move also dream of getting away?
Is there a bird pecking at him, as he tries to pass the time away?
What, oh what mean ogre must stand on boss's shoulder?
Well this ogre ever leave us be?
Then the boss repeated, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, boss or fiend!' I shrieked upwards -
`Get thee back into the tempest that awaits at your own desk!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit starring at my bust!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!'
Quoth the raven-boss, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is standing, still is standing
On the dirty unwashed floor above my desk door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the overhead-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
