PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I met a professor of prose

His mind Socratic as Socratic goes

Are you the one to teach me truth?

I am that I am, it is I forsooth.



I met a stumble bum in a strange milieu

He said, “My son I am talking to you.”

I used to be just as inquisitive

But now I hesitate to tell you what is true.



I paid homage to the insane in the asylum

Each was given a plant from a different phylum

I learned all inane subjects I could,

So I could graduate  Schulae Studiurum Superiurum



Night followed day then day followed night

For me it was always a dichotomous thing

To exercise my judgment on what was right



A mule tries to choose between two thistles

For me it is difficult choice between epistles

Are you the one to teach me truth?

The mule and I will starve until we hear whistles



I stayed until I could learn no more

I eschew obfuscation and erudition deplore

My brain could no longer take the strain

Of what these accu-dummies had in store



O professors are there any more to learn?

I am still just as vague and taciturn

Now you can pontificate just as we do

“I am the one to teach you truth,

It is I, it is I, forsooth, forsooth.