February 11, 2014 § 3 Comments
I trudged to my mailbox one day in the cold
to find an envelope proclaiming “Do Not Fold.”
I opened it quickly to find you in my hand,
a single piece of paper, worth close to forty grand.
So unassuming and simple, almost nonchalant,
your importance only revealed by your fancy Gothic font.
My years of arduous and tedious work, of essays and exams,
all culminate in this single sheet, weighing just 4.5 small grams.
While I hiked uphill to the library, in the coldest nights of winter,
you waited patiently in Strong Hall, blank card-stock in the printer.
You were just a piece of paper, not sure what you’d become
and now, congrats Diploma, you’re something to be hung.
On my office wall you’ll go, next to your undergraduate twin,
at the very top of the paper-chain, in a frame looking out from within.
So thank you, little Diploma, for validating my dedication,
without you I’d just be a student, awaiting graduation.
And on the other end of the coin, perhaps in another time and place,
without me you’d be just a napkin, wiping someone’s face.