nce while in a climate dreary, he then pre-kids not weak nor weary,
Came many a quaint and curious band with their tools of musical lore,
While he stood there, foots a tapping, he aimed his camera, shutter snapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at the backstage door.
‘Tis a photographer,’ bouncers muttered, ‘rapping at the backstage door -
He’s taking pics, and nothing more.’

Then came kids and their beguiling of DINKy-souls into smiling,
Straight they wheeled to the ‘burbs, their cushioned streets a metaphor;
Upon which the photographer came to thinking, ‘twas now time to stop the linking?’
Fancy unto fancy, hyperlinking concert photos from days of yore -
Came this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous conclusion of yore
The photographer croaking ‘Nevermore.’

This he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
The family whose sublime glow enveloped him to his very core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head at ease reclining
Twas now time to start unwinding the site that once boiled o’er,
Whose velvet pictures lining page upon page boiling o’er,
The site shall live, ah, Nevermore!