The Hound, by our resident literary deity, L.P. Hovercraft

And still I am haunted by the distant baleful baying,
The ceaseless patter of tiny paws,
And scratching of claws
As if at the very doors
Of my sanity.
O Heinous Fate!
That daemoniac howling that doth pierce my sleep
(And my waking)
As a rapier traverse my soul.
Would that the cohabitants of my residential abode
Return from their fortnight
Of post-nuptial respite,
That I may be free of this canine crooner!