This is a poem my mom wrote for her senior class at Scarsdale High, exactly 36 years ago to the day. I have no idea how we managed to have a publishing date on April 15th, but it feels like fate, and the content of the poem rings true as well. Thanks, mom!
Twas April 15th and throughout Scarsdale High
Every senior awaited a college reply.
The report cards were thrown in the garbage with care
In hopes that their parents would not find them there.
I in the front row, my friend in the back
Had just settled down for a long Physics nap.
While the teacher crammed formulas into my head
I dreamed I was nestled all snug in my bed.
When suddenly in the Dean's Hall arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
After asking around I acquired the knowledge
That not one senior had been accepted to college.
It seemed that admissions offices all over the place
Had decided that Scarsdale had fallen from grace.
No Amherst, no Dartmouth, no Harvard, no Princeton,
No Williams, no Stanford, not even one person in.
So forget all the Ivies, they're not for me
For the Class of '85, it's WCC!
Twas April 15th and throughout Scarsdale High
Every senior awaited a college reply.
The report cards were thrown in the garbage with care
In hopes that their parents would not find them there.
I in the front row, my friend in the back
Had just settled down for a long Physics nap.
While the teacher crammed formulas into my head
I dreamed I was nestled all snug in my bed.
When suddenly in the Dean's Hall arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
After asking around I acquired the knowledge
That not one senior had been accepted to college.
It seemed that admissions offices all over the place
Had decided that Scarsdale had fallen from grace.
No Amherst, no Dartmouth, no Harvard, no Princeton,
No Williams, no Stanford, not even one person in.
So forget all the Ivies, they're not for me
For the Class of '85, it's WCC!