An homage might begin
Fittingly
When in the middle of the month of May
The senior students have gone on their way
To find, when topaz comes, that debts accrued
Will suddenly begin to be pursued
And lusty presses on the aging year
As equinoxes soon will draw more near,
When flowers bloom from showers in those lands
Where they are gathered into waiting hands
And woven into wreaths for round-poles dance
At which no few have found a new romance,
Then scholars who have sought the middle age
Will go to gather on a central stage
Not far from where a lake a mitten laves
And speak and eat and drink and ill behave
For going to a zoo, as they long did,
And in that going feel again as kids.
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