That first morning,
the campus brimmed
with August dew,
as fawn-like students
stumbled by in
sturdy adult shoes.
Shimmery oak-green
trembled, and so did
the students who
had yet to find
their rhythm in
those rigid
adult shoes.
Through the narrow halls
they lurched,
doe-eyed
and off balance.
Beneath
a misty tree
I hid, barefoot,
and uninterested
in their four-year
rite of passage.
pm poetry 