Edgar Allan Poe’s Apple Pie

Once upon a midnight rotten, cold and rainy, I’d forgotten
All about the apple pie still cooling from the hour before.
I ignored the frightful stranger knocking, knocking . . . I, sleepwalking,
Pitter-pattered toward the pantry, took a knife from the kitchen drawer,
And screamed aloud, “How many cuts give me ten pieces?” From the door,
The stranger bellowed, “Never four!”