The Student Poem by Howard Long

Now the the feet scamper,
the nights are dreamless toil,
the sun runs past to embers
and papers wall the rooms.

But soon the sun will tire,
and slow its raging hunger.
The desk will fill with papers
so many left defiled
the proctor reads in drudgery
and seldom ever smiles.

Then all will pass and dawn,
as steps return to home
the days will pass like leaves
and run to earthen tombs.

Recall your dreams now master,
the time has come at last.