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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a subtle clunking,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my truck's floorr—
“ ’Tis some Covid issue,” I muttered, “tapping at my truck's floor—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost auto-stop/start—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name auto-stop/start—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each rhapsody blue Recaro
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“ ’Tis some gremlin knocking on my truck's floorr—
Some late gremlin knocking on my truck's floor;—
This it is and nothing more.”