Class Of 2004 Poem by Robert L. Bixler III

Walking tall with a rhythmic stride
Towards this one last test
With effervescent pride, so hard to hide;
We stand, diplomas in hand, at infinite moment's best.

Four cursedly short years-
Some could pray for more;
Years that saw the conquering of fears,
And the acquiescence of majestic lore.

From waddling freshmen un-assured
Of ourselves, and the ways of the heart,
To that of sure-footed, lack-lovéd cured,
Future leaders of the world ready to start,

Such transformations have been found
In our own reflected mirror image.
Yet, all the while we are still bound
For the same youthful visage

That was created by childhood dreams.
Eager we step forward, class of two-thousand n' four,
Ready to grab life by its very seams,
Roll with the punches, and still return for more.