Roaring at the gates

Matt Drescher, Contributing Writer

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You’re ready, so close you can taste it.

Woke up early to seize this day.

No chance you’re gonna waste it.

 

You’ve been practicing, been prepping

For that moment, the sweet victory.

You’ve put the hours and the sweat in.

 

The gates are faceless.

The matador, he paces

Like a mad dog, you’re hungry.

Ready to bowl over some frosh like its rugby.

 

Finally, they open.

You’re ready to rush in, like a frozen

Bullet. 

 

But as you close in, ears ringing

Those gates, they’re singing.

Your buddy grabs you

“Bro, chill. It’s only Cafsgiving.”

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