Once upon a weekday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of playa lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one loudly dubstepping my rv door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tripping at my rv door -
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak midwinter,
And each separate dying burner wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the bar of yore-
For the rare and radiant volume whom the playans name the bar -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple drinkin
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some eager playan entreating entrance at my rv door -
Some late visitor entreating gifting at my rv 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 browsing, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came dubstepping at my rv door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, 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 words, "MOOP NO more"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "moop no more!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the rv turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a oonntz oontz oontz louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my rv crapper:
Let me see, then, what the beat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the burners and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and shirtcocker,
In there stepped a stately burner of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, opened a pbr by my rv door -
Perched upon a bust or Phallas he brought to my rv door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this dusty burner beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the dusty,drunk and crazy smiling of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no birgin,
dusty, grim and ancient burner wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the burner, "ygmir, or more."
Much I marvelled this mighty viking to hear the chanting oh so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing burners by his rv door -
burner or fish upon the bust within the rv door,
With such name as "crypto, ygmir and more."
But the burner , sitting smiling on the massive bust, spoke only
those few words, as if his soul in that pbr he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a fin then she fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other burners have burned before -
On the morrow they will leave me, as my burns have gone before."
Then the burners said, "moop no more."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what they utter is right and matter,
leave no trace moop is wrong for whom the hat is lord and master
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of leave no trace and moop no more'."
But the burner still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of burner, fish or viking by my door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous burn of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "moop no more."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fish whose blinky toy now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, oop no more!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Simon of the playa tinkled on the dusty floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of moopy floor:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind absinthe and forget this lost empire store!"
Quoth the burners, "moop nomore."
"pyro!" said I, "thing of barbie! - prophet still, if fish or devil! -
Whether isotopia sent, or whether trishntek tossed thee here ashore,
Dusty yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by burner haunted- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in center camp? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the burners "MOOP NOmore"
"Pyro!" said I, "thing of barbie- burner still, if fish or viking!
By that playa that bends above us - by that hat we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant playa,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name vegan choirgirl -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name vegan choir girl."
Quoth the burners, "not a chance."
"Be that word our sign in parting, fish or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the trash fence and the Night's apokoliptan shore!
Leave no trace, plume for our token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my burniness unbroken!- clear the moop from my rv floor!
Take thy man from out my heart, and burn thy man well off the playa floor!"
Quoth the burners, "MOOP NOmore."
And the burners, never mooping, still are dancing, still are burning
On the dusty plain of playas just outside my rv door;
And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er hthem streaming throws there shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - EVERMORE!
THANK YOU PLAYANS ONE AND ALL
"Savannah" I like it . . . it makes us sound forward-thinking, and not at all like trailblazing, professional-level procrastinors.
the rest of us are in the School of Fukkit. "Eric"