‘Twas the day of the room draw, and all ‘cross the land,
Mawrtyrs’ fingers stayed crossed, hoping all goes as planned,
The draw-order numbers had gone up at noon,
Hopes to be realized or dashed very soon,
The Mawrtyrs were checking numbers of beds,
While visions of window-seats danced in their heads.
And the residence council, with puns on display,
Were ever-so-ready for this fateful day.
As Thomas Great Hall filled up with chatter,
Of Mawrtyrs with maps to clear up the matter,
Dorm President hopefuls securing possible votes,
And heated debates over retiring to Rhoads,
Surreptitiously plugging numbers into phones,
Hoping luck would prevail over living along,
When what to our wondering ears did appear,
But a last run-through of procedure, just to be clear.
When asked to explain, most Mawrtyrs just stare,
“It’s just one of those things, you just have to be there”
Suddenly the first number rang out ‘cross the hall
Her response of “Erdman!” was surely soothing to all.
Now Brecon! Now Denbigh! Now Pem East and West!
In Radnor! In Merion! New Dorm, Rock, and the rest!
Maybe you want a porch? Or a floor made of wood?
Or anywhere, anywhere, anywhere good!
As leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
Rooms dashed out of South in the blink of an eye.
New Dorm went next, closing as well,
Rhoads North was the third place the eraser fell.
Whispering to friends who had yet to decide
Just where they might choose when it was their time.
My roommate wants New Dorm with singles galore,
But I won’t trust myself with a carpeted floor
One heller in Batten, the other just drew
She’ll enjoy Merion, the laundry will be new
A friend suggests Rock, where I lived last year,
But my number could mean the third floor, I fear.
When it comes to the Pems, I’d put West after East,
But it is said that they both suffer from the beasties.
I’d almost forgotten all about Brecon–
But being realistic, I know I’m not up for trekkin’.
I’m not drawn to Denbigh, I’ve no reason why,
And with none of my friends there, why even try?
Worst case is Erd, but I’m not desperate yet
I won’t get back into Rhoads, but I’m not upset
Number 227 had me prepared
For all possible outcomes, any number of stairs
If Athena is willing, I’ll be with my friends
And we won’t be enemies by the time all this ends.
So the numbers drone on, as dorms fill up and close
While successful room-drawers empty the rows
Heads turn at some decisions to closely inspect
Who could possibly think that THAT dorm is the best?
But each to the own, or so I’ve been heard said,
And at least that means my chances aren’t in the red.
My number’s approaching, it’s really crunch time
I’m still frantic, and nervous, and can’t quite decide
Do I need to be social? Aren’t bathrooms enough?
When did knowing what I like suddenly get so tough?
At long last it’s my time, it’s my number that’s called
And I’ve got to announce my residence hall
I’ve gossiped, and searched, and whispered a lot
Thought about coolness, thought it’s something I’m not
But oh, what the hell, I’d rather be around
People I know I like, and Uncommon Grounds
I’ll take red windowpanes, and maybe some volume
If I know I’ll be excited about any room.
So 227–oh goodness, that’s me!
Yes, Radnor is where I’d like to be!
I’ve met with success–I think I’ll be alright!
So to all, a good Room Draw, and to all, a goodnight!