The Walks Of Drew
By John Delonas
How fresh the gates in April's breeze,
Framing the walks we knew
In the youth of spring;
the blowing trees
Caress the strolling couples;
their love is new
But not their clasped hands.
There where the sun leans on misted grass
Beneath the wet oaks
The reluctant students pass
How short the walks
To an unprepared class.
Ah! The darkened walks of Drew,
Slowly they wind where lovers dwell,
Now to sweet rendezvous,
Now to sad farewell.
There shadows swell
Of another class,
Timed by the evening bell,
Timeless memories pass,
Down the fading walks they go,
And disappear in the hall-light's glow.