To the Graduates

We were all 18, once,

and waiting to cross

that stage, the next stage,

seated there, gowned in blue

or white or black, red

or maroon, eager and anxious,

afraid, though too afraid

to admit it, unprepared as we

really felt, not ready, not really,

not yet, but rising at our name

called, we stepped forward, and a diploma

now in hand, officially graduated

with a tassel moved from right

to left, as you will,

your turn now, a torch passed,

this rite of passage moving

you onward, forward, that next

stage your own to walk.

But you are not alone;

we who walked before you and those

long before us, we are here,

wishing you well, god-speed,

much success, as we were wished,

all of us, once, at 18,

and so wished, succeeded.