The Graduate

“You are old, ‘Father World,’” cried the Graduate,
“But for one of your age and size,
I feel it is only my duty to state
You are not uncommonly wise.”

“I am aged,” replied Father World, “it is true.
And not very wise I agree.
Do you think tho’ it’s fair for a scholar like you
To abuse an old fossil like me?”

Said the youth, “I refer not to college degrees,
Nor dates that one crams in his skull,
I complain not because you are lacking in these,
But because you’re so awfully dull!

“I have studied you now I should think more or less
For twenty-one years, and I know
You right through and through, and I can but confess
You are really confoundedly slow.”

Said the world, “My dear sir, you are right, there’s no crime
Like dullness—henceforth I will try
To be clever—forgive me! I’m taking your time,
Perhaps we’ll meet later! Good-bye!”

LATER.

“You are cold, Father World, and harden’d forsooth,”
Cried the man, “and exceeding wise,
And for any offensive remarks of my youth
I beg to apologize.”