I used to walk those hallowed halls
of brick and stone and pine.
I used to read those learned books
whose pages truths divine.
I used to smell the saccharine scent
of farmers’ fare and crêpes.
I used to hear the rhythmic pound
of student feet on steps.
I used to puzzle fact and lore
with masters of their craft.
I used to laugh with those close friends
such light and cheerful chaff.
I used to sing that battle song
on ovals moist with dew.
I miss those old forgotten days
there, where the sweet wisteria grew.