Once upon a midnight dreary as I plodded weak and weary
To my bed with visions full of Slumberland’s enchanted shore.
I was taking off my socks and suddenly I spied my dachshund
Curled up like a sleeping fox in just the space that I yearned for
“Move yourself off of my bed, please, I am weary and footsore”
Quoth the dachshund, “No. You snore.”
Startled by the stillness marked by such display of cheeky snark
Quickly did I point my finger toward the bedroom’s open door.
“Get thee hence, you little brat, I’ll take no sort of sass like that,
Upon my bed I’ll stretch out flat, my wearied senses to restore.
After all my toil I crave the yielding mattress’s contour.”
Quoth the dachshund, “Try the floor.”
I had scarce the strength to quibble, “Listen here, you know that kibble
That appears as if by clockwork in your dish upon the floor?
It does not grow on the trees, nor does the salve that wards off fleas,
So I would think you’d try to please the person who buys treats galore.
If I do not get my rest, I’ll not be going to the store.”
Quoth the dachshund, “You’re a bore.”
And the dachshund, never stirring, lay just like a kitten purring,
By my lack of will inferring his was now the winning score.
Anyone who owns a dachsie must concede they’re full of moxie,
Both directly and by proxy, your commands they will ignore.
Best admit that any chance of winning you long since foreswore.
You’re the master nevermore.