Shall I compare thee to an exam day? Thou art more stressful and despicable: Simon Fraser walls by clouds still grow grey And finals weeks are far too long and full: Sometimes too strict the eyes of profs do stare, And often are their pricey textbooks skimm’d; And every test and quiz to me’s unfair By fate, or my prof’s syllabus, untrimm’d; But my eternal hatred shall not fade Nor lose memory of that pen thou ow’st; Nor shall I hope that A’s are in your grades, When in long lines to The Peak hate grow’st; So long as students…
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Oh, the places you’ll go! (Unless there is snow.) . . . Congratulations on gradu-waiting, it only took you six years. From construction that’s deteriorating and destroying your ears, to crowded lines at the 145. (When will the gondola arrive?)…
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