A Poem

There once was a group of young Scholars
At school, with anonymous dollars
In attempts to earn their baccalaureate
But they were given much more than that

They studied old dead peoples' books
And established an elitist look
With sunglasses made just for their heads
Having nightmares of Plato's Cave in their beds

Wendell Berry is more than a name
It means "more reading" and "more of the same"
Though perhaps we may still find some worth
In writings obsessed with preserving Kentucky dirt

They live in a world where "Meditations"
Are not tranquil, but cause endless frustrations
And where business casual is debatable dress
Trying to avoid looking like a complete mess

Scholars walk with an unusual swagger
Carrying all those big books made their backs hurt
At the end of the semester they are nervous
Wondering if they had enough hours of McConnell service

But at the end of it all, they are lucky
They are the brightest in all of Kentucky
They are given what many never have
A good education on which to brag


*some of the views expressed in this poem may or may not be held by the author*

- Sarah Stovall, '14