‘Twas the night after layout, when all through the house,
There were no sounds of stirring, save the click of a mouse.
‘Twas just like my sophomore fall term except
I’d forgotten the hours that normal folks slept.
The papers were hung by the doorframe with care,
In hopes that Lord Bryce Wachtell soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of lab reports danced in their heads;
When in the Rare Book Room arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the hallway I flew running like hell,
Bust open the fire door and set off the bell.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of springtime to seniors of NoHo,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But on magic lacrosse stick and with flowing beard,
With a shaggy old rider with his foot on the gas,
I knew in a flash he must be St. Nikilhas.
More rapid than curses his courses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, English! now Physics, now BC and Chem’stry!
Curse Bio, curse Econ, curse Spanish and Hist’ry!
To the ends of the earth! ‘till my doomed senior fall!
I fail one! I fail two! I have failed them all!
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So down to the gutters my GPA flew,
With arms full of papers, and Lax practice too…”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard pounding beats
The snapping of dabs and the scraping of cleats.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Into the newsroom Nikhilas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in a jersey, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished and mudded with soot;
A bundle of All-Exclusive Limited Edition Choate-Only Jaballi Walli
100% Cotton ®©™ he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a preppie just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pencil he held tight in his teeth,
And eraser shavings encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
And at once I knew that was my future ahead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fixed all the errors; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He saved it to Dropbox and then struck a pose,
Majestically dabbing, through the ceiling he rose;
And I now knew The News was the meaning of life,
The cause of my joy and the cause of my strife,
And I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight—
“Happy layout to all, and don’t sleep a good night!”
