Thursday, March 22, 2007



Half a court, half a court,
Backwards and forwards,
Strode the warriors
Of the hoop hardboards.

To win for their campus,
O how will it end?
A fight to the finish,
With an army of ten.

A war not of honor,
Or scholastic pursuit,
But how well they dribble,
And how well they shoot.

They shoot not from cannon,
No muskets at all,
Their weapons are harmless,
Just soft rubber balls.

Supporters to the left of them,
Opponents to their right,
Many paid a monthly wage,
To see this mighty fight.

Was there a fan dismay'd?
Not that the ratings knew.
Their's is not to reason why
Their's is but to cheer and cry.

When final trumpet makes its sound,
And peace refills the Dome,
The world will not a bit be changed,
When everyone goes home.

©2007, Dalton, Lord Hammond