The Poet Remembers

O, I am the gray, purple poet,
My opinions are etched for all time;
If you hear me on campus you’ll know it,
By my talk – in verses and rhyme.
I.
I speak of a time
When intramurals were prime,
When guys went to school for the play;
For their house or their frat,
They’d go to the mat,
Go to class only during the day.
II.
For varsity sports
Were for elite jock sorts,
And dorm rooms were sparse not complex;
Before TV’s and e-mail,
Not allowing the females,
For halls were divided by sex.
III.
Students were taught,
Contests were fought
In the gym, on the fields, between naps;
Frosh were recruited,
Their houses were looted,
By frats like the Tekes and Phi Kaps.
IV.
For winning of games,
Reaching for fame
Would challenge all other proclivities;
Rivalries supported,
Classes aborted,
And points topped academic activities.
V.
It’s been said that at Lewis,
Students mattered most to us,
Not by their grades and test scores;
Instead they were weighed,
By the passes they made,
And touchdowns put up on the board.
VI.
For their majors were football,
Wrestling, and basketball,
And they minored in softball and tennis;
They played some ball,
Spring, winter, and fall,
With time spent with doctors and dentists.
VII.
Profanities were shouted,
Bodies were clouted,
And teeth were loosened and lost;
Bruises were common,
Friendships were bonded,
Rowdies were threatened and tossed.
VIII.
But groups were united,
In ways seldom cited,
With teams we can never forget;
Whether winning or losing,
Limbs broken or bruising,
Their names in our brains are all set.
IX.
BSU, Teke, and Friars,
Delta Sig and the Brothers,
Phi Kap and Omega Psi Phi;
The Redbirds and Hall Ryan,
Rising Sun and Orion,
Conjure up memories with a sigh.
X.
And who can forget,
Goose, Sheen, and No Deck?
Boomer, Mad Dog, and Sty?
Cheap Shot was a Teke,
And how about Zeke?
Baby Fitz and Hawaiian Paikai?
XI.
The Poet is old,
His bones getting cold,
But the history will always remain;
Bronze, silver, and gold,
Stories never grow old,
Forged in links connecting our chain.
Refrain
Yes, I am the gray, toothless Poet,
My joints wrought with arthritic pain;
If you see me on campus you’ll know it,
Cause I walk with a limp and a cane.