Our Poet Looks At TRADITION!

WHEN PLEBES REALLY GET THE SHAFT

When the Old Gray Spike is smeared with lard,

And the plebes rush out en masse to the Yard,

One imagines that Captain Herndon grins

To see how the plebelings bark their shins.

So they clutch in a slippery pyramid

While the smallest and lightest tries not to skid

From scaling his classmates' sweating backs,

As new graduates watch, and just relax.

But at last the white cap's clapped on high,

Chants of "No Mo' Plebes" float to the sky,

In one more step to a life's ambition.

And why?

Great God, man, it's TRADITION!

5-31-08 RR