Out on a tree’d hill he stood,
walking in the buggy grass;
never caring he was that good;
never thinking to place high in his class.
‘Neath scaled hickories without effort
(it seemed), he read, wrote, studied.
With his cousins on and in X’d videos he’d cavort,
whether the paths were pulsing, dry or muddied.
He sparred with great wit and thought
as he discussed, with authors, literature.
He pondered and argued upon what he got
from reading ancient and revealed Scripture.
At last, now, as BigEP reaches a good childhood’s end,
Let us salute the brain’d heights of this Salutatorian!
Cyrano Writer: Musings of a Revolutionary Romantic Poet 