It has to be that season fair,
When no one can walk anywhere
Without a detour around
Somebody digging up the ground.
The time's upon us when the height
Of fashion is construction blight,
And when the peak of elegance
Appears to be the cyclone fence.
In other seasons, student hordes
Might feel irritated towards
What's happening, and raise complaint.
They might, if here. But now they ain't.
That must be why this yearly crime
Is native to the summertime.
The crews have only now to play,
Before they have to go away.
None seems to know what's going on,
But all pray for it to be gone.
We hate our campus out of whack.
We really do. We want it back.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, July 21, 1995.
c 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.