I'm long familiar with a young campus
May,
Bathed in brand-new green,
and even more newly deserted.
It is a pleasure few choose to indulge.
It is a pleasure too fast in passing.
As May grows old, I would trade my
paradise,
Straight up, for another fifteen-credit
season.
By June, I would trade it for six.
I could get used to the emptiness,
But my mind detests the idleness.
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