All credit to Lee Coffin of Dartmouth on this verse and good luck to any seniors still working on applications:
‘Twas Two Weeks ‘Til the Deadline
‘Twas Two Weeks ‘Til the Deadline and all through the house, the senior was stirring coffee-charged fingers on her mouse.
Her essays were written and edited with care in hopes that admissions soon would be there.
Her parents were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of acceptances danced in their heads.
The tours had been taken, the testing no fun,The deadline was coming but her application was not done.
The procrastinating senior had work still to do. The Common App beckoned, its word limits poo-pooed.
The senior was stymied as she stared at her screen, the last supplemental question seemed especially mean.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, the senior sprang from her desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew like a flash, she tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
When what to her wondering eyes should appear but a queue of admission officers and eight tiny reindeer.
With a gray stubble driver so lively and keen, she knew in a moment it must be the Dean.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Eric, now Erin, now Jenny and Greg, on Kevin, on Topher, on Taquilla and Peg.
To the top of the porch to the top of the wall, we must read all these files, holistically all.
So up to her housetop the readers, they flew, with their sleigh full of files and the Dean up there too.
And then in a twinkling she heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As she drew in her head and was checking her phone, down the chimney he came with a bleary-eyed moan.
He was dressed all in flannel, from his head to his foot. While reading the Dean never wore a suit.
A bundle of applications was flung ‘cross his back. And he looked like a peddler just opening his sack.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread.
But the senior was anxious, her application unfinished. She had nothing to give him, were her chances diminished?
The pools are so big, where do I stand? Everyone is great, high achievers, I worry I’m bland.
The Dean tapped his bag with a sympathetic sigh, as he beckoned her close as she was about to apply.
The deadline was coming, that was for sure. Her content was strong and her logic was pure.
She had done well in school and was very well rounded. Her recommendations were rosy, not a wee bit confounded.
The Dean leaned in close so he could be clear, The application you see, is your chance to cheer. Tell your story, be authentic, you’ve nothing to fear
A yes or a no, there is no way to peek. For now please stop worrying, keep typing, just let your life speak.
And laying his finger aside of his nose with an encouraging nod, up the chimney he rose,
His sleigh stuffed with apps to his team gave a clue and away they all flew, there was reading to do.
And she heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight, “Happy Holidays to all and to all a good night!”
~Lee Coffin
Vice Provost for Enrollment and Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid,
Dartmouth College