‘Twas the night before listings, when all through the house,
All the creatures were stirring, including the mouse.
Oh, we’ll find one, they said, as they called up their friends,
Everyone’s got a house, we’ll surely find tens.
So they texted some seniors they met once last year,
Give us your place, they cried, you won’t shed a tear.
“Oh it’s going to Chi O. Or Beta, or OZ,”
Damn this should’ve been easy, their plan had no flaws!
The weeks flew on by, no options they had,
While their friends started finding their next year’s sick pad.
“I guess we could just stay where we’re living already,
We’d have to move nothing, next year’d be so steady.”
But the problems took only a week to set in,
The mice running rampant, the walls way too thin.
“We’ve been here a month, and I’m tired of it,
There’s no way I’ll take a year more of this shit.”
A panic set in, they could stay here no more,
Call UE, they said, and set up a tour.
Harnwell’s nice, lots of food, but they hate their RA,
And off-campus they’d have so much less rent to pay.
So they called, and they called, and they called, and they called,
But nothing was left, they were simply appalled.
UCH, Campus Apartments, even darn UCA,
“It’s all gone,” they all said, “should have called yesterday.”
To Harnwell they returned with no options in sight,
“Big apartment next year, it’ll all be alright.”
And soon it was March, time to pick next year’s room,
Their number’d be low, or so they assume.
“Number 642, but how can that be?”
“But Seniors, I thought, get priority!”
Time came for selection, and the options looked odd,
“Holy crap,” they exclaimed, “we’re going back to the Quad.”
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