The Craven
By Cavalier Daily Staff | October 31, 2007Once upon a Lawn night dreary, while Bob pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of fundraising lore, While Bob nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping the pavilion door. "Tis some visitor," he muttered, "tapping my pavilion door -- Drunken frat boys, nothing more." But then Bob flung the door wide, setting some donor biographies aside, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a penny wasted nor stayed he; But, with mien of (rich!) lord or lady, perched above the pavilion door -- Perched upon a bust of Jefferson just above the chamber door -- Perched, and sat, and nothing more. But the raven, sitting lonely on the pricey bust, spoke only, three words, as if from the Board of Visitors did his soul outpour. Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered -- Till Bob uttered "Lawnies protested once before for using pavilions clearly to whore Jefferson's dream in a clever scheme.
