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Sometimes walked with an axe in hand,
A student, Raskolnikov, was he.
And once he entered Hrom at hand,
At such a moment, you see.

He filled a thousand forms in haste,
But did not make the grade.
They told him firmly, “No, not placed,”
And took the axe he’d made.

The selection at Hrom is tough,
It’s been that way for years.
And not all will make it through,
Like Darwin’s theory of fears.