Once upon a late night dreary, though we were feeling weak and weary
We had a quaint and curious notion to improve our second floor -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of my husband gently snapping, screwing drywall past the bedroom door.
'Tis the last piece, I muttered, snapped behind the bedroom door;
Only this last piece, then nothing more.
Ah, distinctly I remember a chill worse than December
As I heard the muffled shouting and the curses that he swore;
Anxiously I called upstairs - was everything okay up there?
Did something need to be repaired - repaired up on the second floor?
With the very final piece of drywall to install up on the second floor?
Silence there and nothing more.
Presently my man appeared; looking worse than I had feared
"Love," said he, "my darling, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was drilling, and that last piece was so thrilling,
That I put a screw into the drainpipe that runs to the second floor.
We'll have to call the plumber - though our budget will be sore -
We must do this, or nothing more.
Now the drywall, though it's fitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
Unfinished and unmoving in the empty second floor;
And unless the plumber calls to tell us how to save our walls,
Will we ever finish the walls upon our second floor?
Quoth my nightmares, "Nevermore!"
|In the immortal words of the Bard: oops.|
|The closest thing we have to a raven.|