A quarter of a century
Has passed since we, blithe, ventury,
Descended on an unsuspecting world.
Full of super-heated air,
We were young and debonair,
Freshly powdered, dressed, and pressed and newly curled.
We were filled with good intentions,
New ideas and inventions;
And we thought we’d do the world up fancy-plus.
But, ignoring our persistence,
Our good world, with fine resistance,
Stayed pretty much the same in spite of us.
Which is good, we must admit,
For–(can you imagine it)
What would Mother Earth resemble pretty soon
If her face were bing shifted,
And continually lifted,
By those squirts that high school gives us every June?
So these graduates don’t rate
Highly with old grads–but wait–
I believe they’re snapping out of it, by Heaven!
Yes, I think it’s very moving
How of late they are improving:
They’re the children of the Class of ’27!
by Ray Romine Monday, April 7, 1952
