or, The Sequels of Edgar Allan Poe
Twice upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered o’er the query
“Is there yet balm in Gilead?”
Suddenly there came a sound
Muffled, like cotton wrapped around
A watch, a tell-tale beating sound
That made men think me mad.
For I had penned verse with no equal
And tales that clamor’d for a sequel
And so the public called for more!
More noises at my window lattice;
More pondering where that damned black cat is;
More dark despair that men adore.
More men walled up in drunken revels
More black-feathered bird-shaped devils
This time saying “Furthermore...”
So the sequels came a-thumping
Thumping at my chamber door
The first one that the public’s craving
Is, of course, Son of the Raven
With a prequel called “I Found Lenore.”
And after these, a brand new scene:
As walls collapse with a mighty crack,
As Fortunato Striketh Back
And before too long...The Tell-Tale Spleen.
A victim is found with his belly slit
In The Pendulum in Another Pit.
Then a crazy scholar, diseased in the brain,
Brings his cousin a little peace
In Dental Implants for Berenice
And notching up some further pain
A tale to take away your breath:
A Second Masque...for the Yellow Death!
And Usher’s House, Rebuilt Again.
ENOUGH!
These horrors are no more
Erased by the raven at my chamber door
Whom I obey as he starts to implore
“Don’t do sequels! Never bore!”
And so I won’t. Forevermore!
