‘Twas the Sunday before finals and all throughout Peirce came the whoops of the feasters all showered in light.

The students had studied all the hours before, with textbooks and laptops, as visions of syrup danced through their heads. 

The clock did strike nine and all o’er the campus came the soft pad of Bean Boots headed one way, for they knew what was inside, on that heavenly day.

As I entered the servery my heart did three flips, I was sure that my eyes may well be playing tricks. But no, ’twas all real, every last bit.

The line had been long, but I soon found out why, for the salad bar was filled all with sugary delights. The Skittles, the Airheads, they all looked so good, I heaped my bowl high and added some fish.

But this was not all that mine eyes could see, for here there was D-Cat up to all his old tricks. He had trained as a chemist, and in his laboratory he mixed, the breakfast of champions, and I licked my lips.

My plates piled high, to a table I ran, to feast with my friends and not even try to cram. For tonight there was music and candy galore, and the spirits of all were so genuinely pure.

The table lay empty, but my stomach was full, and the candy had made me just as fit as a bull. I headed for Olin, still buzzed from the sites. As I stepped past the seal, I think I might just have heard, a sound from Old Cromwell, piercing the night, “Happy Finals to all and to all a good night”