Many many many many ma...well, you get the idea...years ago, I had a chemistry lab and for a project, we had to do something relating chemistry to our majors. Since I was majoring in English, I asked the instructor what I should do, and he joked, Write a poem about chemistry. Well, I couldn't think of anything any better, so I wrote several, based on famous poems, and bound them into a book.
He laughed hard, admitted that it took some work, and gave me a B, which was fine by me.
Tonight while attempting to find photo paper for the printer, I ran across one of them, and thought I'd share
with apologies to Edgar Alan Poe
Once upon a midnight gloomy, while I pondered with my roomie
over many a general bulletin and schedules galore
looking for the perfect class; something fun that I could pass
something fun that I could pass that wouldn't be a bore
"Tis impossible," I muttered, "to find a class that's not a chore
to bring my grade point up to four."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the gray November
my aching head was tender from being beaten on the floor.
Then suddenly there came a rapping, then a flutter and a tapping
as if some R.A. had come rapping, rapping at my dorm-room door.
Yet it came from out the window, not from my dorm-room door.
My window on the top-most floor.
Opened I the glass and curtain, then with steps so calm and certain
in there stepped a raven of the stately days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he, not the slightest thank-you gave me,
but with mien of lord or lady perched beside my dorm-room door.
Perched upon a potted tree just beside my dorm-room door
perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
by the awkward perch he'd taken in my little potted tree
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure a raven
old and wise and thoughtful raven - this anyone can see.
Tell me - what course can be taken to give me credits three?"
Quoth the raven, "Chemistry."
But remembering my confusion of osmosis and diffusion
and of fission and of fusion and the golden octet rule
"Do you know what you're doing, bird?" I asked, "For I'm still ruing
all the junk that kept on spewing when I mixed chemicals at school.
Tell me - what would you count if you had a mole of water in a pool?"
Quoth the raven, "Molecules."
Suddenly my heart beat faster, my sorrow turned to merry laughter
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, could your knowledge be for hire?
For I'd have no frustration while practicing titration
if on my shoulder you'd be stationed, whispering answers so entire!
No problems with my test tubes and strange flasks evendryer!"
Quoth the raven, "Erlenmeyer."
The next day I preregistered upon the advice of the inky bird
I filled in little boxes that were coded "Chemistry".
Since then he has not spoken; his silence is unbroken
not even a raven's croakin' will he direct at me.
While I struggle with equivalents to find normality.
He just sists, that raven, in my tree.
Yes, the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
on the little potted tree just beside my dorm-room door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a chemist that is dreaming
and the desklight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor.
And my grade from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall not be raised to grade-point four.