A poem
Once upon a school night dreary, while I studied, weak and weary,
Over many a long and tedious volume of obtuse case law-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of someone angry snapping, chewing on the libr’y door.
“’Tis some stupid snail,” I muttered, “chewing on the library door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate pending paper wrought its stress upon my brain.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books some legal content—content for my prof, Lorraine—
For the long distinguished prof I distinguish as Lorraine—
Writing seemingly in vain.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wond’ring, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no student ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was my whispered words, “Hey, can you watch my stuff for a second?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “…sure!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Out to see what was the matter, when, with many a crash and clatter,
In here ran a dirty Raccoon of the filthy forest floor;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of Dean or lady, perched outside the libr’y door—
Perched upon a bust of Laskin just outside the library door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Now his fur it all was matted, as if somebody had patted
Mud and clay onto his body; his prints were left all o’er the floor
Plus the hallway he had soiled, his escape having been foiled
And his form he had all coiled, caked in filth and travel sore
About the bust of Laskin all caked in filth and travel sore
Perched and sat and nothing more
Then this trash panda beguiling my sad study into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the little mask it wore,
“Though thy fur be warm and fluffy, thou,” the watcher of my stuff expects me soon
Precious small and smelly Raccoon wandering from the forest floor—
Tell me now thy urgent message ‘fore I go to sleep and snore!
Quoth the Raccoon “one page more”
Curse you Raccoon! Sitting lonely on the placid bust and only
To remind me of the work I’ve left to do before I snore
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a whisker then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered “All my friends have left before—
But the morrow it will find me, in this libr’y I abhore
Since to write I’ve one page more
Then, methought, the air grew hotter, as my wealthy alma mater
Cannot seem to keep the heating and the cooling systems fixed
“Raccoon” I cried, “to think I thought you kind distraction from my evening’s long inaction”
As I’ve hardly thought of else but the assignment from Lorraine
For near a month, I’ve had to work on this assignment from Lorraine
But the Raccoon spoke again
“Raccoon” said I, “thing of evil!—you have caused such great upheaval
To the final night by which I must complete my wretched chore
Of my progress you have taunted, when the only thing that I had wanted
In this libr’y I swear haunted was to complete my wretched chore
Will I finish by the morning?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raccoon “one page more”
“Be those words our sign of parting, beast or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the forest and there trouble me no more
Leave no excrement as token of my focus thou hast broken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above the door!
Take thy mask from out my sight, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raccoon “One page more”
And the Raccoon, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Laskin just outside the libr’y door;
And the sun it now has risen, with me still inside this prison
And the deadline for submission comes in only minutes four
Yet all night I wasted staring at this raccoon heretofore
And still to write—I’ve one page more.
