A ballad poem about my beginnings as a poet infamously known as, "The Swarthy Bard"!
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS;
degrees from the home of “The Tribe”
are crap that obsolesce.
I'll make rhymes as “The Swarthy Bard”—
as poems are my forté
(not tomes or arcane scholastics):
ballads are my métier!