(My apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I retched, weak and weary,

Over many a thirstily drunk series of regurgitated ale -

While I retched, nearly crapping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As if someone gently rapping, rapping at my outhouse door.

"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my outhouse door -

                                  Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the humid moonlit August,

And each buzzing skeeter wrought its sting across the sky.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

From my tacklebox full of sorrow - sorrow for my lost prized Walleye -

For the rare and radiant fish, which the gods had named Walleye -

                                  Nameless here for evermore.

And this rapping filled me with a terror never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating

"Tis some visitor entreating - entrance at my outhouse door -

Some late night visitor entreating entrance at my outhouse door; -

                                 This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was crapping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my outhouse 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 squatted  - wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no fisherman ever dared dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Walleye?" -

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Walleye."

                                 Merely this, and nothing more.

Then around the outhouse turning, all my gut within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, much much louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely there is something at my outhouse door;

Let me see, then, what there is, and this mystery I’ll explore -

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery I’ll explore; -

                                 Tis the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with strain, and peering upward,

There I spied a stately Raccoon of the great northwoods;

And, with manner of lord or lady, perched above my outhouse door -

Perched upon the crescent moon  - just above my outhouse door -

                                 Perched, and silent, and nothing more.

Then this rascally critter beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy face be comical, thou," I said, "art surely no baboon,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raccoon - wandering from the Nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on this north Wisconsin shore!"

                                 Quoth the Raccoon, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled at this curious creature to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer had little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing, that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing  - a rascally Raccoon perched above his outhouse door -

Furry beast upon the crescent moon above his outhouse door,

                                 With such a name as ‘Nevermore.’

And the Raccoon, sitting lonely on that moon, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further did he utter - not another word did he mutter -

              Until this critter again re-stuttered, "Nevermore."

But this Raccoon was still beguiling my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I tossed a boat cushion in front of crescent moon and door;

Then, upon the foamy plastic sinking, I betook again to drinking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous critter of the north -

What this grim, bandit faced, furry, and ominous critter of the north

                                 Meant in whispering, “Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but with no syllables expressing

To the beast whose bandit eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at bottle dining

On the boat cushion's foamy lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er.

Then, me thought, the air grew denser, fouled by a nasty sender

When that rascally, talking raccoon  - tinkled on my outhouse door.

"Wretch," I cried, "why have you tinkled on my outhouse door?”

“Respite - respite and repent from thy memories of this Walleye;

Quit, oh, quit this fish – repent and forget this lost Walleye!"

                                 Quoth the Raccoon, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - Prophet still, if beast or devil! 

Whether Satan sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this north shore haunted -

On this crummy crapper by the lake - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there my Walleye on the morrow? Tell me - tell me, I implore!"

                                 Quoth the Raccoon, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "Thing of evil - prophet still, if beast or devil!

By that Heaven that winds above us - by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant day,

I shall hook this mighty fish, which the gods named Walleye -

Hook this rare and radiant fish, which the gods named Walleye."

                                  Quoth the Raccoon, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, beast or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -

"Get thee back into the forest and the night's Wisconsin shore!

Leave no scat as a token of this lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - Quit the crescent moon above my door!

Take thy bandit face from out my sight, and take thy form from off my door!"

                                 Quoth the Raccoon, "Nevermore.”

And this Raccoon, never quitting, still is there, still is sitting,

On the tattered crescent moon, just above my outhouse door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a rascal that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on my

outhouse floor.

Now my fishing days are over - floating silently – floating somberly – 

on that haunted north Wisconsin shore.

Alas, after meeting this strange night visitor – after conversing with this furry critter – 

I shall fish for that prized Walleye – Nevermore.

 I often still spot,

A big old raccoon, 

Perched on the old outhouse roof,

Nearly 10 years after this eerie 

Late night encounter occurred.