University (Non-Incongruous Poetry, For A Change)


Through the eastern gate we look:
It’s like the picture in the book!
On the lawn, in Sunday dress,
two students play a game of chess.

Virile sportsmen ply the lake,
row back and forth for rowing’s sake.
In the bandshell, right at three,
a brisk, yet lovely symphony.

Budding chemists by the score
rip elements from mother ore.
Though never wishing to seem rude,
the busy students wolf their food.

Teachers teach and learners learn,
we smell the midnight oil they burn.
By the western gate, en masse,
we cheer the graduating class.

(New alumni, ear-backs wet,
are crushed beneath their student debt.
Without jobs, nor homes nor cars,
they talk philosophy in bars).

Katelin and I had a nice Father’s Day weekend visiting campuses. Her current top three are Davidson College, Hamilton College and Hobart and William Smith Colleges. All grand institutions of higher learning. All very expensive. Here’s hoping the Tuition Fairy pays us a visit and leaves something nice in our socks when we aren’t looking.

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