The Cow
                            written Freshman year
                               by Jim Reardon

Once upon a studyhall dreary, while I plottered, weak and weary,
over a book about an apple core -
While I plottered, nearly napping, there suddenly came a snacking,
as if someone gently tapping, rapping on an apple core.
"Tis a fat slob," I thought, "snacking at my apple core - This it is and
 nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the cold bleak December,
Each library member wrought it's complaint upon the floor
Eagerly I wished to borrow - to release my morrow - a chip or two but
to my sorrow - sorrow for the lost dollar -
For the lost and rare and radiant moolah the angels name George -
     Nameless here forever more.

And the crying, happy, sand rustling of each blood-stained paper
thrilled me - filled me with paper cuts never felt before;
So that now, to still the hunger of my stomach, I stood repeating
"Tis some slob entreating entrance at my table's shore -
Some fat slob entreating entrance at my table shore -
     This it is and nothing more.

Now my soul grew tougher, forgetting me as a bluffer
"Sir," I said, "Or Madam, cheetos I'd adore.  See," said me, "I was
almost napping so slightly you came snacking and so smally you came
snacking, like a tapping at my table's shore"
"That I scarce was sure I heard you" - hear now I look at the shore
     Apple core and nothing more.

Deep into the starkness peering, I stood there fearing,
Wondering, thinking things no mortal ever dared to think before,
The quiet unbroken, stillness gave not a token -
I whispered into the darkness "Apple Core!"
What returned gave my heart a scare - "Shore, an apple core."
     Only this and nothing more.

Back into the table churning, with my heart within me burning,
Mylax I needed to be feeded -
then the tapping, me slightly rapping:
Let my heart be calm a moment and let me explore -
     Tis the teacher and nothing more!

Open, here, I flung the chair, then with a moo and flutter,
In there stepped a stately cow whom I far from adore -
Not a minute's waste, he flew in with great haste,
but perched upon my head's small door,
perched upon my bust of Pallas upon my little door -
     Pearched, sat, and nothing more.

Then this ivory cow making me twirling, later me hurling,
By the grave and stern lmoolock it wore,
"Though your head be thick, unshaven," said me, "thou are no craven.
Ghastly evil and ancient cow wandering, just tell me how -
Tell me thy name, and if you have ancestors with much fame -
     Quotith the cow "What for."

Hay mucho I marveled this annoying cow to hear discourse so toying,
Though it's answer was stupid - and he had justith poopid,
For we cannot not agree that no human that be,
ever blessed with seeing a cow upon his head's little door,
Bull or cow upon the sculpted door upon his head's little door,
     With such a name as "Whatfor."

But the Cowven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if that was the milk over which his cerial he did pour -
Nothing farted, he never huttered, not a utter, he fluttered -
Till I muttered "Other fiends have flown before -
Tomorrow he'd be gone, like Mister Liquid Spawn!"
     Thisith Cowith Saidith: "Whatfor."

Frightened at the quietness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Hehe," said I, "What you think is bonds and stocks -
Caught from some unhappy master when he gave me this disaster
followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
till the cheese he buys is one burden bore -
     Of what-whatfor!"

But the cow, still smiling, I felt like crying,
Fast I wheeled a fat tall lady in front of cow, head, door
Then upon the hard wood floor, I began to adore,
fancying, thinking, what this cow bird of yore -
what this grim, cow bird of yore
     Meant by "Whatfor."

This I sat engaged in guessing, nada pregunta expressing,
To the fowl cow who's eyes burned into my apple core -
This and more I sat divincing, with my buttocks easily reclining,
on the floor's velvet lining that the flashlight gloated over,
But who's velvet violet lining with the lamp-light glating over
     He shall press, ah, whatfor!"

Then, me thought, the air grew thicker, perfumed as unseen picker
Picking the garbage from the floor -
"Cebby," I cried, "Thy god hath sent thee by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and null thy memories of George."
"Quaff, oh quaff this porge - forget about george?"
     Quote the cowith "Whatfor."

"Prophet!" said me, ripping off the tutu, "I have to name you fufu!"
"Whether Satan sent or chance made us met -
Desolate yet daunted, on this enchanted isle of yore -
Oh this home by horror haunted - " by now my voice undaunted -
"Will I get my fogotten yore like apple core?  TELL ME I IMPLORE!"
     Quotith the cowith "Whatfor."

"Prophet!" said me, ripping off the three-three "Why here are not a tree?"
"By that heaven that moves, by that God we both adore -
Tell this heart with sorrow smorge if, I will see a saint
The heavens name George - Clasp arane and radient dollar,
the angels name George!"
     Quotith the cowith "Whatfor!"

"Be that the sign of riddance - by that my fiddance
Get the back into the tempest night at thy table's shore -
leavith no single spot a token that thy has spoken -
Andith don't let your butt hit the door -
Take thy grazing unbroken - take thy mooing as a token -"
     Quotith the cowith - "Whatfor!"

And the cow in every flitting, still sitting, sitting
on the pallid bust of Pallas just above my head's door,
And his eyes were shot out, rot out -
The lamp light showith my gun's holes in my flight -
'Bang,' went the gun, when this cow shall say another word:
     Nevermore!