‘Twas the night before Finals, when all throughout college, Not a student was stirring, besides cramming their knowledge; The libraries were full of undergrads and their books, And anyone who spoke received dirty looks; The slackers were holed up sweating in their room, Dreading the many exams and essays that loom; I had settled into Tippie and was hoping to study, Though the weather had left me feeling pretty cruddy, When far down the hall there arose such a bang, That up from my one-man plastic table I sprang. Down three flights of stairs I leapt like a frog, Threw open the wide doors to greet the evening fog. The nearby lampposts lit the courtyard aglow, Exposing the small, dirty patches of snow, When what to my sleep-deprived eyes did appear, But a portrait come to life in front of me here, Stepping out from an old VW Bug onto the lawn, Was a man I knew to be John Pappajohn. In his hands were balanced boxes: flat, white and square, And as he smiled at me I could do nothing but stare. His hair was quite thin, and his glasses askew, But I had seen his giant portrait enough times that I knew; He strolled through the door I had left still ajar, And I followed behind him upstairs to the coffee bar. After finding my table, he sat with a huff, Before pulling out a blunt and beginning to puff! He held out his hand to pass me the joint, After which I could do nothing but point; “Listen, I would love to light up with you, buddy, But in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying to study!” At this he coughed, or maybe it was a laugh, Took all my papers and tore them right in half. “Come on, kid, you’re wound up too tight! Take a break from dead week for a smoke and a bite.” Then he opened those boxes, and to my surprise, Each one was full of steaming pizza pies. “I thought you weren’t that Papa John,” I gasped, And he gave me a glare that I still have not grasped. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t have some fun, Now take a quick break before you get that work done.” I had never known a ghost could be so damn cool, So I decided to join him, since I wasn’t a tool. We ate all the food and we smoked all the weed, And I found myself paying my assignments no heed. Then after a while, the ghost rose from his chair, And gave me a wink that I knew meant, “Take care.” Down those great stairs he tottered with ease, Out the large doors, and off into the breeze. But I heard him exclaim, before he was out of sight– “Happy Finals to all, and to all a good night!”
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‘Twas the Night Before Finals
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‘Twas the night before Finals, when all throughout college, Not a student was stirring, besides cramming their knowledge; The libraries were full of undergrads and their books, And anyone who spoke received dirty looks; The slackers were holed up sweating in their room, Dreading the many exams and essays that loom; I had settled into Tippie and was hoping to study, Though the weather had left me feeling pretty cruddy, When far down the hall there arose such a bang, That up from my one-man plastic table I sprang. Down three flights of stairs I leapt like a frog, Threw open the wide doors to greet the evening fog. The nearby lampposts lit the courtyard aglow, Exposing the small, dirty patches of snow, When what to my sleep-deprived eyes did appear, But a portrait come to life in front of me here, Stepping out from an old VW Bug onto the lawn, Was a man I knew to be John Pappajohn. In his hands were balanced boxes: flat, white and square, And as he smiled at me I could do nothing but stare. His hair was quite thin, and his glasses askew, But I had seen his giant portrait enough times that I knew; He strolled through the door I had left still ajar, And I followed behind him upstairs to the coffee bar. After finding my table, he sat with a huff, Before pulling out a blunt and beginning to puff! He held out his hand to pass me the joint, After which I could do nothing but point; “Listen, I would love to light up with you, buddy, But in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying to study!” At this he coughed, or maybe it was a laugh, Took all my papers and tore them right in half. “Come on, kid, you’re wound up too tight! Take a break from dead week for a smoke and a bite.” Then he opened those boxes, and to my surprise, Each one was full of steaming pizza pies. “I thought you weren’t that Papa John,” I gasped, And he gave me a glare that I still have not grasped. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t have some fun, Now take a quick break before you get that work done.” I had never known a ghost could be so damn cool, So I decided to join him, since I wasn’t a tool. We ate all the food and we smoked all the weed, And I found myself paying my assignments no heed. Then after a while, the ghost rose from his chair, And gave me a wink that I knew meant, “Take care.” Down those great stairs he tottered with ease, Out the large doors, and off into the breeze. But I heard him exclaim, before he was out of sight– “Happy Finals to all, and to all a good night!”