Once upon a Over a large forgotten tome of Anthro lore
While I nodded trying, working, suddenly there came a snorting
As of some piglet from my chamber bed
“Tis imagination,” I muttered “Playing tricks upon my weary head.”
Only this, then off to bed.
Ah distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December
And each separate page left ghostly imprints in my memory store
Eagerly I wished the morrow – but so much work, oh such a sorrow
From the Australopithicine to the Homo sapien line
Was a long, dry history, with many species, oh so fine
What a waste, I whine and sigh.
Then the snorting from the chamber from the depths of porcine slumber
Scared me, filled me with fantastic dread I had never felt before
So now I stood, to pace unceasing, mumbling, blabbering, and repeating,
“Tis the weariness and the hour.” Silently to myself I swore.
“Just Hogwash lying on my bed,” as I paced before my chamber door.
This is it and nothing more.
Presently my heart grew stronger, feeling sane and crazy no longer,
Back to work, and truly to finish – all this reading will soon be over.
Then no more of work and reading. End the night of needless fretting.
But the paper I was reading held no interest or mystery store.
But then from the corner came once a gain, the soft and happy little roar.
But Hogwash only, and nothing more.
Around the room, scanning, peering. Long I pondered wondering, fearing,
Doubting whether sanity my mortal being ever held before.
But the silence was not shattered, and my gaze on Hogwash fell
And the only word was uttered, was “Hogwash” did my own lips muttered.
Edging slightly to the door, with Hogwash’s gaze into me bored.
Only this and nothing more.
Back toward my desk I turned, with my stomach all a-tingle
Again I heard the little snorting, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” I laughed, “Surely it is my stomach growling.
Let me see then, what there is to eat from within my freezer store.”
Let me convince myself that there is no mystery here to explore.
Tis my stomach and nothing more.
Frantically I ran to my freezer door, when from a far a louder snore,
Sounding like a throaty chortle, from the plushy little boar.
I stared into his fat, round head, stopping to question my state of mind.
But perched here on my goose down pillow, glassy eyed and slightly hollow
Perched as if from regal stock, the stately Hogwash gazed afore.
Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then this pinky pig beguiling, all my tired mind to fancying
My mind now hung from silken threads, lacking mental clarity
Though thy head be squat and squishy, and thy body flat and plump
Thou surely cannot ere be talking for thou art merely a cotton lump
So why then am I sitting here, speaking to his small pink rump.
Quoth the Hogwash, “Never more.”
“What!” I screamed, my heart a-pounding, was the pig to me disclosing
Was I mad or was I dreaming, to have heard my piglet speaking
For we cannot but help agreeing, that no sane mortal human being,
Ever has heard a plushy doll utter words as though it were breathing
Perhaps the hours was too late, and my thinking was all too poor.
But again it whispered, “Nevermore.”
Fear, my mind now in its clutches, seeking for some rational
But blankly staring up at me, so cute there could be nothing foul.
I tried to push the pig away and turn back to my Anthro core
But scarcely had I chanted through the history of the Human line
I heard again the word being muttered, and my sanity it did wore
Quoth the Hogwash, “Nevermore.”
Freaking, screaming, pacing, dancing, round before my chamber door
“What,” I shouted at this pig, with the little smile it wore.
I must be dreaming some ill dream, where pigs wreak havoc on my brain.
It even makes me think in rhyme and vocabulary I have never gained.
Til the poem of this madness of my little energy drains.
“Nevermore” did he refrain.
But the Hogwash still beguiling, all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I hurled a cushioned ball directly at the rounded head.
Then into my arm chair sinking, I betook my thoughts to forge,
What was meant by all this talk, or lack there off ‘cept one single word.
What did all this really mean, speaking from a stuff-ed boar.
Again he said it, “Nevermore.”
“Argh,” I yelled in his direction, with no thought of the attention
I was surely getting from my neighbours through the thin wood door.
Maybe I have always had a tiny voice…oh am I mad?!
Into the closet corner crawled, hiding behind a coat of wool,
Maybe if I count to ten, this whole thing will all be over.
But quoth the Hogwash, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet,” screamed I, “Are thee of evil? Art thou pig or of a weevil?”
What’s a weevil, I thought, Methinks it’s only for the rhyme.
But still this pig, this cotton toy, played on my nerves, that was its ploy.
And suddenly the answer came, upon my soul like waves on shore
I planned to use the same attack, the battle started, this now was war.
I quoted with Hogwash, “Nevermore!”
Silence at this half dazed cry, but yet at me he looked so sly.
So slowly I sat in my rolling chair playing the game of wide-eyed stares
When from a distance I heard a call as though an echo in a very large mall.
My name it said repeatedly, in song and lively movie score.
I felt the tug of that misty call, so from the pig my gaze it tore.
I mumbled now, “Nevermore.”
Quickly I ran outside my door into a freezing corridor.
I heard the calling of that voice. It sounded like my roommate Grace.
Then from my wretched slumber woke, to see my roommate at me poke.
“What are you doing?” came forth the demand, for now I lay on the carpet floor.
Oh sane and hard reality, of thee will I from now adore.
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