The school-leaver
A mountain of rice pud I waded through,
Set reading and a host of bookish facts,
Where every urge for freedom was taboo
Where nothing struck though all fell on my back.
Until I landed in an open field,
Far from that rule-bound, cold oppressive place;
A peacock wisdom to me there revealed
And knowledge from the trees I picked apace.
For uselessness my time was all my own
And I struck gold when all I sought was shale.
As university that world was known –
A world that one can hear folk claim instead
To wolves and speed hogs now is up for sale –
As if you could spread banknotes on your bread.
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