Upon every spring term dreary,
Upon students worn and weary,
Who are neither wild nor wary,
About anything anymore;
About all that does not matter,
And the details of the latter,
Will be heaped a pile of patter,
That they really ought ignore.
For some student politicians
It’s a chance to play patricians,
So they ramp up their emissions
Of arcane and useless lore.
For the student news reporters
It’s a chance to follow orders,
And present themselves as porters
Of all truth that’s fit to bore.
But all others, you included,
Should have long ago concluded
That it’s best to be secluded
From this democratic chore.
So when next you fail at caring
About platforms odd and erring,
Do not think you will be faring
Any worse off than before.
And upon the next election
Of a student council section
Do not bother with selection,
But do something you love more.
