The people of Stanford
that I’ve taken for granted
all of this time,
a most special bunch,
gave me so much.
The people of Stanford,
for whom I have so much love,
taught me
how to learn, love and live
through everything life throws.
The people of The Daily,
of convictions most special,
found me my passion,
all things writing,
my writing, my justice,
for what is writing,
if without good values?
The people of FloMo,
with whom I lived,
a home most precious,
a community most joyous,
fostered a most special day-to-day
with on-calls and trips,
and late-night roomie chats aplenty.
The people of Chabad,
with whom I broke bread
of challah braids so symbolic
and blessings so beautiful,
imparted lessons aplenty
onto this gentile gentleman.
The Muslims of Stanford,
believers so devout and solemn,
illustrated values and humanity
towards a society more just,
a desire for justice
from every river to every sea,
as moral as can be.
The Department of Classics,
a most special endeavor
housed in Building 110.
Coming back again and again,
Coffee Hour and every hour,
to learn and to chat,
gaining wisdom that will last.
Grad workers of Stanford,
a most conscious bunch,
teaching me much,
lots about lecture
and lessons of solidarity
with a union so grand.
The Stanford group so particular,
feelings since faded,
but with lessons enduring
of the heart and the self.
A group most unique
and souls so special
from a connection that ‘was,’
for footnotes of the heart
can be special still
in spite of time’s
permanent passage.
The friends from Stanford
I was lucky to meet,
through good times and bad,
eternally thankful
for all the memories made.
The classes of Stanford,
the citadels of curriculums
so special, so inspiring
sparks of consciousness
to motivate action
amidst pressing questions,
for the classes of Stanford,
spaces so social,
usher in winds so powerful,
winds of freedom that blow.
The people of Stanford
that I’ve taken for granted
all of this time,
a most special bunch,
gave me so much.