Eighty Pound Bond

I
What are you
Roslyn High?
I gaze at you
From the street
As you rise above me
A brick and mortar thing
Strong against the bulge
Of  Harbor Hill

II
You are more than a building ‑‑‑
That, I know.
Some say you are just Roslyn,
Yet, I do not,
For a name in itself has no meaning.

III
Four years have I passed with you
And I am soon to be gone.

IV
Of me, dear Alma Mater,
Write in life's diary . . .

V
Scuffing along the halls
Against the jam of shoving students,
The clasping, warm handshake
Of friendly, open hands . . .
The silence of fans in bleachers
Ever fervent to the humbling end.
The throbbing pulsebeat
And the hopes and hidden tears ---
The blinding of a million dreams.

VI
Write of me . . .
Of elections, plays and proms,
The old songs, and the music
That I carry in my heart.

VII
When I creep along my way
With a trillion different fears,
The peace, the noise, the motion,
And a thousand people's talk,
Then of me, dear Alma Mater
Write in life's diary,
What all of this meant ---
Roslyn High.

VIII
But above all, in triplicate,
On eighty‑pound bond,
Write, You are to me
What I have made you.