With apologies to E.A.Poe, here's my attempt:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while she pondered eyes all bleary,
Over knives that I had considered scarcely not an hour before.
Sorting through the catalog's mapping, ever conscious of a rapping,
Of her shod foot firmly tapping, tapping on the kitchen floor.
"Not THIS one," she pointed, foot tapping on the kitchen floor.
"Not this one and not one more!"
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in that great December,
When each happy fam'ly member brought their gifts inside our door.
Eagerly, I tore them open - curious and ever hoping
For the C.U.D.A., no more to covet - covet as I had before!
For the smooth-actioned C.U.D.A. that I had never had before!
A C.U.D.A. to cut or scrape or bore.
And the power of that feeling, sure to send my mind a-reeling,
Thrilled me - filled me with visions chilling to my very core.
So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"Now surely I can have that knife that I did not but before.
The Camillus C.U.D.A. that I did not buy before.
But have always wanted, from days of yore."
Now at last the urge was stronger, growing large from waiting longer,
"Dear," said I, "uh, Sweetheart, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was crazy, you know that I'm much too lazy
And my memory is hazy, hazy like those times before,
"Certainly I had not committed to forego this knife before,
Certainly, of this I swore."
Deep into her dark eyes peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Headed for a place where no man returns without a chore.
But her glare remained unbroken, and there she stood, solid, oaken,
I heard the words before she'd spoken, "Not this one and nothing more."
Part of this I repeated, and murmured back the words "Nothing more?"
Yes, this I'd heard in times before.
Feverishly, my mind churning (proper responses I'm still learning)
If I add to my collection, she would show me the door.
For my knives sat in corners dusty, some ATS, still others rusty,
Soon I'd stammer or I'd sweat, sweat out of every pore.
She'd see my scheme from the sweat coming out of every pore.
If this occurs, I get none more.
"Hon...," I started, ever hoping, for careful words, I'd been groping
As if searching for a diamond in a thousand tons of ore.
I felt as if I had been stranded, or as common crook been branded,
By feable, myriad excuses, excuses ever thinner wore.
Hopelessly, I thought excuses that ever thinner wore.
Only these, and thought none more.
There she stood, eyes beguiled, sparkling, and then she smiled.
A look reserved for special times, for at my soul it tore.
Cautious treading here demanded, as I felt soon to be remanded -
I feared I knew her likely plan to be constraining her amour.
There was no torture more direct than constraining her amour.
Horrific torture, none worse more.
Cursed greed of knife collection! Must it deprive me of affection?
These demons raced about my head like ghosts from days of yore.
The Camillus C.U.D.A. is a beauty, surely fit for any duty,
And like a pirate's love of booty, my yearning I could not ignore.
Own this locking liner G-10 treasure which I could not ignore.
But sleep on the couch a month or more.
So, Moderator, now I plead - that my affliction you will feed.
Despite the fact my wife will close and lock her lovin' door.
It would be my greatest pleasure, to possess a spear-point treasure
A prize I'd very nearly measure, like my wife (who I truly do adore.)
So please Camillus (a company who I truly do adore)
Please send the C.U.D.A. to my shore?