Duck and waterfowl pick at the edge
O’th’ massy lake now lit by radiant Dawn;
Beside them floats a cardboard-plastered pledge
To fix YUSU, and to all students fawn.
Where once it hung, lit up by colours bold,
Surrounded on all sides by more and more,
Now squats an empty railing, black and cold,
The cable ties still wrapped around its core.
How sad and flaccid paper mush now seems,
That filed our campus ‘gainst each runner’s word!
How did that which now jostles in the streams
Create such nuisance when all the names were blurred?
Few now remain, awaiting mortuary,
At least until we reach next February.
The Final Stretch
This term has yet a little more to go
Before the day of reckoning begins.
That rush which sweeps up all into its flow
And makes them pay for all their term-time sins.
This term, dear reader, has not been one of note,
If by ‘of note’ you mean that things have changed.
Nay, standard it has been as words connote,
Familiarly the structure’s been arrange.
Why then, has Term 3.2 broken
Everyone who previously was fine?
Those who had but in jest of stresses spoken
Now clutch themselves and for sweet first year pine.
Verily, we have reached the final stretch,
And th’thought of postgrad life doth make us retch.