{shortcode-747f3049741c5df4b1546cb379b87988f47b96bf}Early Wednesday afternoon, I trudged wearily from Sever Hall to Radcliffe Yard. I did not make this journey voluntarily—if it were up to me, I’d spend my afternoon napping. But FM sent me out to investigate this mysterious site, and I took up the gauntlet.
What can I say? As soon as I arrived at the specified location to which I had been dispatched, my resistance melted. Suddenly, the strangest, most unfamiliar feeling washed over me.
I had the immediate urge to write a poem.
Again, let me emphasize how utterly unlike me this impulse is. I mean, I’m the person who wouldn’t be able to explain the difference between anaphora and alliteration if I were held at gunpoint.
But I’m taking a class on poetry, the sun was shining, the grass was green, and... What can I say? Radcliffe Yard just brought out all the feels in me.
So, without further ado, I present “Stopping by Radcliffe Yard on a Random Afternoon” (a loose and shameless adaptation of Robert Frost’s famous poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”):
Stopping by Radcliffe Yard on a Random Afternoon
By Miranda L. Ryshawy
Whose lawn this is I think I know.
The buildings feel unfamiliar though;
A helpful plaque reads: Founded 1879
And the sunlight sets the autumn trees aglow.
I felt awkward in a short span of time,
When I was ogled by a tour group in a line.
They departed from Agassiz House after a break,
And I then found a sight that was simply divine:
An abstract sculpture arcing like a snake.
At its striking geometry I do a double take.
I continue along the path’s gentle reach,
And discover an oasis so serene my heart aches.
The yard is lovely, but I take a seat
Because all this walking has me beat.
And my recon mission is complete,
And my recon mission is complete.
