The time’s arrived in which the height
Of fashion is construction blight,
In which the peak of elegance,
Apparently, is cyclone fence.

In other seasons, student hordes
Might feel irritated towards
The dust and din, and raise complaint.
They might, if they were here. They ain’t.

Perhaps that’s why this yearly crime
Is native to the summertime.
The crews have only now to play
Before they have to go away.

We hardly know what’s going on,
But how we wish the bother gone.
We hate our campus out of whack.
We really do. We want it back.