It's graduation weekend at Duke and University of North Carolina
And the towns are thronged with proud parents thinking Nothing could be fina
Than to see your progeny, the fruit of your loins,
As he or she walks across the platform and joins
The ranks of those who have enjoyed
Their college years and now are unemployed.
Here they are graduating in Durham and Chapel Hill.
Some of them surprised to find out that they will
Because they racked up a number of incompletes
On weekends when they followed the drumbeats
Of pleasure instead of marching to the academic drummer
But now, miraculously on the verge of summer,
Here they are posing solemnly in their blue gowns and caps
Who back in January were on the verge of collapse.
White tents are raised along the avenue,
And smoke billows up from the barbecue.
And over there a family stands beneath a magnolia tree,
And someone says, --Everybody get closer together. One, two, three...--
And a flash and there is the picture you'll look at years from now,
Green grass and white clover and blooms on the catalpa bough
A picnic basket on the lawn and girls in yellow dresses,
And an old man in a powder blue sport coat who progresses
Slowly down the walk on his silver cane
Past lavender azaleas brilliant from the rain
And rose bushes scattering pink petals beneath the pines
And the wild grape vines
Growing luxuriantly as things do in North Carolina
Which was designed by a romantic designer,
And there in all this lushness and liquidity,
Stands a handsome woman of a certain solidity
Her hair all frizzy from the humidity,
Gold bangles on her arms and flowers in her hair,
And a pale green dress right out of Jane Eyre,
She is your Mater, Mutter, Madre, Mere,
She is your Matka, Mor. Honey, she's your mama
And in the syntax of things, she is no mere semicolon or comma,
She is a magnolia tree with which great power
Produced you. You're the flower
That blooms and thrives and goes forth
East or west or south or north
Spreading light and kindness as it goes.
And here's a hanky. Blow your nose.