Others, apparently, come up with genius poems about how horrible exams are:
Twas the night before exams, and all through the library;
not a person was happy, no one was merry.
The outlines were written and printed with care;
In hopes that the answers would be in there.
It had been more than a week since the 1Ls had seen their beds;
While visions of Starbucks danced through their heads;
The 3Ls were drunk, the 2Ls, taking a nap,
I was wondering how I was going to learn all this crap.
When from down the hall, I heard such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the group study rooms I sprang with a flash,
Tore open the door, and threw up the sash.
The florescent light on the practice exam hypo,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the questions below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but strange fact pattern involving issues unclear,
With an extra large staple, it must be 20 pages thick,
I knew in a moment, their professor was sick.
More rapid than eagles, the cases they came,
And I whistled and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now Palsgraff! now Pennoyer! now Dredd Scott and Ashwander!
On Marbury! on Miranda! on, Youngstown and Lochner!
I've read all these cases, back in the fall!
Now write away! Write away! Write away all!"
As children at bed time, they began to cry,
and they begged and they pleaded and wished to die.
So back to their laptops, the students they flew,
to update their outlines and their class notes, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard such a sigh,
the sound of exhaustion from a gunner 1L guy.
As I drew in my breath, and was turning around,
I knew his sprit had been chrushed without even a sound.
Though he'd dress all in suits, from his head to his toes,
he'd not have a chance at good grades to show.
The bundle of books he had carried on his back
had not translated to learning, understanding he lacked.
His eyes- how they had twinkled, his face had been merry!
His cheeks had been like roses, his nose like a cherry!
Now his drawl little mouth was drawn down like a bow,
His unshaven beard was just starting to show.
The stump of a pencil he held tight in his teeth,
And the gloom, it encircled his face like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
that shook when he cried, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a sorry shell of his old self,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A blink of my eyes and a turn of his head,
Soon gave me to know, he had plenty to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went back to work,
and rewrote his outline, then turned with a jerk,
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
Slowly out of his chair, slowly he rose.
He sprang to his book bag, and let out a whistle,
he still had time to get a Venti Chia Soy Double.
But I heard him exclaim, as he walked out of sight,
"I'm goind to go read Gilbert's for the rest of the night."
Yeah, that's basically been my life since Thanksgiving. It's over on Monday, thank goodness. Finally got out to the barn today, though, and gave Dee's mane a much-needed pulling:
No comments:
Post a Comment