Propped against a majestic pillar and stairs of granite
Overlooking a plush courtyard of green,
With shadows of Maple, Oak, and Pine
It fills with the souls of academia
Carrying the burdens of their passion
Expression abound, contemplation, laughter
Some with no expression at all
What have they chosen, where did their drive begin
Bells of the Campanile ringing, echoing
Denoting only the time
The morning dew glistens
As the sun crests over the mighty hall
As the sounds of the souls of academia begin to fade
Nature once again returns
With the sound of a gentle breeze whispering and combing through the branches
And the tender melodies of the song birds
This realization can only mean but one thing
Class has begun, I’M LATE! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem