Every year, or so the odds seem,
They'll stick that ceremonial fork in my teams,
and all of my fertile semesters,
'Til everything active in my life just pesters,
But they can't get that fork through my leaves
Or the pen up my sleeves.
It gives me reason to believe.
It gives me reason to remain,
Keep my head in the game,
Keep my head up, look for the long gains,
Be obscenely productive and productively obscene,
Play selectively nice and collectively mean,
Keep my cap polished 'til it gleams.
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