From College, With Love

Three years ago on a day like this I
Had enough free time to stare carelessly
Out the window: a darkening blue sky,
Puddles in the yard, swaying limbs of trees
And other such mundane sights caught my eye,
So, not being busy, I scribbled down
Some words about the other lads, “the guys”,
The princes, jesters, pretenders to crowns.

Another restless, sunny afternoon
Around the same time (or slightly later)
I wrote about their messing up the room,
Sighing that no group was esteemed greater.

Three years, and three more summers and springs past,
My dad was right: my best were with that class.