O the constant recitation of sonnets,
The endless Mozart sonatas,
The cavernous museums,
Art, art, art.
Art of all shapes and forms to consume,
Digest,
Regurgitate.
The long lessons,
The querulous questions,
The awful answers,
The proud and ponderous books
Piled high before me,
An Everest of learning,
Of knowing,
Of transcending.
All the advantages
Were mine,
When all I really wanted to do
Was pull the tail of the old tabby
And make him screech.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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