Congratulations Cornell, you get another dose of my not-so-funny bi-weekly installments before the end of the semester. I know you all missed me over Thanksgiving so I begged my editor to publish just one more thing. Okay, let's be real, you were all too busy stuffing your faces with turkey to care about what I would have written last Thursday. I guess I just couldn't bear parting with you, so here it is: a bonus column. Without further ado, I present some semester-ending verses for you.

Its that time of year again 

when the leaves have all fallen

and Cornell’s basketballers

have started their ballin’.

There are parties to go to

full of holiday cheer

with good will toward all

and a lot of free beer.

But the end of the semester

is just now in sight,

the approaching exams  

cause many a sleepless night.

Up the hills we trudge

toward the carrels with speed,

past stressed-out students

and professors in tweed.

So off to study

my friends here we go

like Cornellians before us

many generations ago.

But before you step foot

in the library to read,

my friends hear this warning,

of this message take heed:

The libraries in December

are a frightening place;

there is not a smile

nor a single happy face.

Hollow-eyed students

lurk in the stacks

with pallid complexions

and hunched-over backs.

As hard as you look

there’s not a spot to be found

and you fear you’ll be forced

to sit on the ground.

After hours of searching

you find an open space,

but sitting across from you

is a sinister face.

Every page you turn

he shoots you a glare

that says: “One more sound

and you had better beware.”

You keep turning your pages

because you need to pass.

Long ago you lost hope

for an A in your class.

Soon he is livid

his face is contorting

and the looks that he gives you

feel much less than sporting.

A swift kick under the desk

says you’ve crossed a line.

Your shins they are throbbing

there’s a tingling up your spine.

Your eyes meet his

and he grins you a grin

reaching end to end

above his weirdly shaped chin.

His manor is pompous

he thinks he has won

though before you leave

he is in for some fun ...

As you raise yourself

from your stiff wooden chair,

you (purposely) hit your coffee

and it flies through the air.

You watch with vengeance

as the cup hits its mark

and now his white shirt

is all wet, stained and dark.

You may laugh last

this time at least,

but beware,

for you have awoken a beast.

A sorry wont cut it,

he is really ticked off.

He hates you more

than that guy with the cough.

Will Spencer is a senior in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. He may be reached at wspencer@cornellsun.com. Tripping Up Stairs appears alternate Thursdays this semester.