Flaming, threading BIGLAW poasts amidst the threads of Greatbort yore—

While I nodded, worn and slumping, suddenly my thread came jumping,

As of some one gently bumping, bumping my thread up the bort.

“’Tis some poaster,” here I muttered, “bumping flame threads up the bort—

Only this and nothing more.”

-

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak September;

And each separate midlaw member, on vacation, left the bort.

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

From my bort surcease of sorrow—sorrow for lost NeumannMor —

For that rare and poignant poaster ever known as NeumannMor —

Nameless here for evermore.

-

And the triumphant revival of my purple-now-blue title

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the flaring of my heart, I stood firm swearing

“’Tis some biglaw poaster sharing blank bumps in the lawyers’ bort—

Some late biglaw poaster sharing blank bumps in the lawyers’ bort;—

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 I was fatigued and slumping, and so gently threads came jumping,

And so faintly you came bumping, bumping my thread up the bort,

That I scarce was sure I saw you”— I clicked the link in the bort;—

My OP there, nothing more.

-

Deep into that bare thread peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming bumps which were not poasted in the lawyers’ bort;

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

And the only word there spoken was that poaster, “NeumannMor?”

This I whispered, and an echo droned back the name, “NeumannMor!”—

Merely this and nothing more.

-

Back into my work cube slumping, all my heart within me thumping,

Soon again I saw a bumping somewhat realer than before.

“Surely,” said I, “up ahead is someone at my poasted thread;

Let me see, then, who has tread, and this odd mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis my mind and nothing more!”

-

Here I clicked on the thread’s slogan, when, with many quotes and colons,

In there was a stately pumo of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least TITCR wrote he; neither link nor letter quote he;

But, with nary a 180, bumped my thread up in the bort—

Blank bumps strewn throughout my empty, lonely thread in the law bort—

He blank bumped, and nothing more.

-

Then this pumo came beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the blank, yet frequent piling of his bumps – he must be bored!

“Though thy name be blank and pseudo, thou,” I said, “art sure no Doob-o,

Ghastly grim and ancient pumo poasting on the lawyers’ bort—

Tell me what thy sudo alt is on the law’s prestigious bort!”

Quoth the pumo: “Nevermore.”

-

Much I marvelled this blank-poasting soul to see poasting so plainly,

Though his answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help but holler that no xo-poasting scholar

Ever saw his poast, from squalor, bumped atop the lawyers’ bort—

Not by sudo nor by pumo, nor by any in the bort –

With such poast as “Nevermore.”

-

But the pumo, poating lonely on the blank-bumped thread, said only

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

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a flame nor ‘Trump’ he sputtered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other bumps have come before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as all poasters have before.”

Said the pumo “Nevermore.”

-

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly poasted,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what he utters is his only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy law boss whose unmerciful state court loss

Followed fast and followed faster till his briefs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his memos that sorrowful burden bore

Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

-

But the pumo still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of my small escritoire;

Then, upon the Aeron sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous pumo boor—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous pumo boor

Meant in poasting “Nevermore.”

-

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the sprite whose punctuation burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my eyes at ease reclining

On the Greatbort’s blank white lining that the poasters poasted o’er –

On whose plain and blank white lining that the poasters poasted o’er,

HE shall poast, ah, nevermore!

-

Then, methought, the thread grew denser, cluttered by this pumo specter

Spammed by moniker whose colons littered over the law bort.

“Wretch,” I cried, “Rachmiel hath lent thee—by these poasters he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from the days of NeumannMor;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget lost NeumannMor!”

Quoth the pumo “Nevermore.”

-

“Pumo!” said I, “thing of evil!—pumo still, if alt or devil!—

Whether law friends sent, or whether PR tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this tweetblog bort enchanted—

On this bort by flamers haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there hoap for Neumann?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the pumo “Nevermore.”

-

“Pumo!” said I, “thing of evil!—pumo still, if alt or devil!

By that Rach that lords above us—by the ranch we both adore—

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

It shall clasp a sainted maven ever known as NeumannMor —

Clasp a rare and radiant maven ever known as NeumannMor.”

Quoth the pumo “Nevermore.”

-

“Be that poast our sign of parting, pumo scum!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee out from poasted thread and out the law’s prestigious bort!

Leave no blank bump as a token of that flame thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the thread within my bort!

Take thy flame from out my poast, and take thy form from off my bort!”

Quoth the pumo “Nevermore.”

-

And the pumo, never closing, still is poasting, still is poasting

On the pallid, blank-bumped thread within the law’s prestigious bort;

And his poasts have all the damning of a poaster’s that is spamming,

But there is no hoap of banning – shitmods leave my pleas ignored;

And my poasting in the Greatbort – once a task of great adore

Shall be joyous—nevermore!

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3002855&forum_id=2#28850873)

but still a classic thread

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3002855&forum_id=2#28850881)

letigre did a few lines from the poem too

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3002855&forum_id=2#28850966)