I wrote this poem upon beholding the true horror that was Chemistry B practical and wishing I’d done something arty like HPS.

Our Chemical in beaker,

Long-winded be thy name,
Your synthesis done,
Your analysis come,
On Earth as it is in theory,
Give us this day our infra-red,
And forgive us our solvent choice,
As we also have forgiven your impurity,
And lead us not into mis-assignment,
But deliver us from our Labs,

Amen.