Once upon a midday bleary, while I pondered quaint and cheery,
Over a fresh andwitful essay to add to Yale lore
Still I pondered, nearly yapping, whensuddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at myclassroom door.
“‘Tis the counselor,” I muttered, “tapping atmy classroom door.
Only her and no one more.”
Ah, distinctly Iconjecture, it was a person come to lecture,
And her topics’ mere texturewrought a shock into my core.
Eagerly I wished admittance – vainly I hadsought deliverance
For her books I saw a hindrance – with grades and scores,I needed more.
For those who want, with grades and scores, I needed more.
Oh, how I longed for a part of Yale lore.
And the gentle lush intrepidmanner in her teaching method
Willed me – skilled me – in creative essayshoping that I’d outpour.
So that now, to still the breeding of my work, Iheard her heeding,
“Now don’t go overweening or you’ll make thosereading sore;
They don’t need bleeding from a desperate student at theirdoor.
One thought hit me then like none had hit before.
Quicklymy plan grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Excuse me,” saidI, “but what of poetry by the score?”
Surely I will go forengineering, but it is by my rearing
That the admissions people are hearing,hearing of skills beyond mathematics’ core.
“If that is your wish,”she said, moved now a classroom down a door.
And so began my work of poeticlore.
Deep into my life then peering, long I stood there wondering,fearing
Doubting, but dreaming dreams of happiness walking out thatdoor.
My ideal was unbroken, and in my mind there was a token,
Of the wordsmy mom had spoken, “of my labor, what a chore.”
This I whispered andmy mind repeated, “what a chore”
As was how I began and now, somemore.
Back into my home returning, two siblings aft my parent’s spurning
Four years later in preschool, all life renewed at that learning’s door.
In those years of learning first, I was with school completely immersed;
But still I felt nearly cursed when recess called and I not out that door.
On this I reflect and still wish out that recess door.
‘Tis then as nowforevermore.
On passed the years so quickly I could scarce keep track thedays gone by,
Of sports and drama to math school, acceptance then based onscore.
Too soon my interests carried me, onto hobbies that which married me,
To one whose interests although tarried be, expects much more
Who elsesculpts Legos like one with clay, mixing choice pieces from the store?
Wantonto create, but always needing more.
I look into my future smiling, myembrace is now beguiling
Success done by hard work and virtue is that which Iadore.
“When one by unique idea expresses and by its favor ends saidduresses”
By Poe’s rhyme scheme, this addresses my purpose as I nowoutpour
To convey a sense of who I am and add this thought to Yale lore.
Now said this, I will write no more.
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