Thursday, June 21, 2007



This was your school, but today it’s mine
My massive stone structures, my towers, my brick
My gothic archways, my winding slate paths
Mine, the people—the students, the grads

Eighty names they read, eighty souls have passed
Through these doorways, and then through life
Yours was among them, just as you
Were among them then, fifty years ago

So I stood for you, and came in your place
Slipped my name—and yours—around my neck
Shook the hands, returned the smiles
Heard about you from before my time

My feet followed yours down Temple and Elm
Slower and shorter than your purposeful stride
With no less of a mission, but the gift of peace;
I knew what I had to do would be done

I sang in historic Woolsey Hall
With a hundred others, and thousands of pipes
Released the purest organ tones
You might have sat in every chair

I sang the football medley and more
Wished poor Harvard endless ills
My F and G were effortless
In songs of praise for Eli Yale

Who infused me with this spirit?
Spirit for school, for community
Was it channeled—an energy
Left here 50 years ago?

Spirit waited; I waited, too
Always hoping someday I’d find
What I discovered in these few days:
This was your school, but today it’s mine

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Flowers this morning

A small piece of my garden.