Plexus Mortuus: Remembering The William J. Flynn Recreation Complex
Campus CultureSports September 10, 2019 The New England Classic
Behold me razed to rubble mounds,
My iv’ry peaks reduced to dust;
Proudly raised to touch the clouds,
I now return to earthen crust.
See there my heir of Margot’s name,
Who scowls upon my shambled wreck,
Who cruelly saw me fit to maim
And brought the blade upon my neck.
I am but left the Lord of Pits,
Of craters foul, of dismal holes,
And of the ones that glumly sit
Within thy hearts, within thy souls.
When in the spring my grave sprouts grass
And greens the plot below the hill,
Forget me not when by thee pass
And bear in mind my final will:
Lay not thee down upon my acreage,
Let not thy kine make pasture near;
Play not thy games of diskèd catch
And tramp my turf like stamping steer.
Forsake me not to common use,
For sacred was my min’stry here.
Forsake me not to common use,
For sacred was my min’stry here.