Graduations, funerals, weddings and such,
Can be fun, but aren’t that much.
The pattern is the same for every single fest,
All the greetings, some cake (which I like the best),
Lots of awkward talk and laughter,
A barrel-like stomach is what I’m after.
This time, though, with my graduation,
We had some young people from more than one nation.
We found a volleyball and a net to go with,
And with persuasion, players fourth and fifth.
Our fancy-dancy pants were stained with grass,
As one, or more, fell down on their ass,
Our frilly-silly shirts were drenched in sweat:
The very best party that I’ve seen yet.
Even the oldies and goldie-locks told us,
“It was nice to be out and watch you cuss,
The sun felt nice and you made bad plays,
Which was hilarious in all the right ways.”
I hope I remember this the xteenth time,
Not standing on ceremony is not a real crime,
Unless of course it’s Buckingham Palace,
You might be beheaded with the Queen’s own chalice.