Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious collection of vaccine replacements—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one loudly rapping, I could hear it from the basement.
"'Tis probably Charolenne," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only her and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying disease wrought its wrath upon my sons.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my oils surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost diffuser of old yore—
For the rare and radiant oils whom the anti-vaxxers made to ward off measles —
For there will be no autism in this house, nevermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis Charolenne entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Charolenne entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber 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 mortal 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 word, "Honda Accord?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Honda Accord"—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my essential oils within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is Charolenne at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what she wants , and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately truth telling raven 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, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a "live, laugh, love" sign just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "You a whore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—I have heard it many times before;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above her sign or door—
Bird or beast upon the cheap sign above her door,
With such name as "You A whore."
But the Raven, spoke only sitting lonely on the placid decor,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other men have criticised before—
This bird criticised me without a clue of who I am, the leader of the Anti vaxx club should only be addressed as-."
Then the bird said "You a Whore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its Male opression from its sores
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'You—You a whore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and decor and door;
Then, upon the diffuser stinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "You a Whore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes 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 lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
Sheshall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, scented from an unseen diffuser
Swung by Vegans whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Male pig," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these vegans he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of My Honda Accord;
why, oh why criticize and not forget my Honda Accord?"
Quoth the Raven "You A Whore."
"Cad!" said I, "thing of evil!—Cad still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there ANYTHING wrong with vaccines?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "You a Whore."
"Cad!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted SUV whom the angels name Accord—
Clasp a rare and radiant SUV whom the angels name Accord."
Quoth the Raven "You a whore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Chauntivist pigs Forevermore!
Leave no fetus as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my insecurities unbroken!—quit the sign above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting,stillis sitting
On the pallid "live, laugh, love" sign just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
It speaks clearly of me when it says—You a whore!