Twas the night before finals, and all through the college,
the students were praying for last minute knowledge.
 
Most were quite sleepy, but none touched their beds,
while visions of essays danced in their heads.
 
Out in the taverns, a few were still drinking,
and hoping that liquor would loosen up their thinking.
 
In my own apartment, I had been pacing,
and dreading exams I soon would be facing.
 
My roommate was speechless, nose in the books,
and my comments drew unfriendly looks.
 
I drained all the coffee, and brewed a new pot,
no longer caring that my nerves were shot.
 
I stared at my notes, but my thoughts were muddy,
my eyes went ablur, I just couldn't study.
 
"Some pizza might help," I said with a shiver,
but each place I called refused to deliver.
 
I'd nearly concluded that life was too cruel,
with futures depending on grades had in school.
 
When all of a sudden, our door opened wide,
and "Patron Saint Put-It-Off" ambled inside.
 
His spirit was careless, his manner was mellow,
He stifled a yawn and then started to bellow:
 
"What kind of student would make such a fuss,
to toss back at teachers what they tossed at us?
 
"On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On Last Year's Exams!
On Wingit and Slingit, And Last Minute Crams!"
 
His message delivered, he vanished from sight,
but we heard him laughing outside in the night.
 
"Your teachers have pegged you, so just do your best.
Happy Finals to All
 
And to All --
"A good test!"