Not much needs to be said to introduce this poem I wrote today. It is dedicated to one of the best professors I've ever had. Without his extreme teaching methods and without him pushing me in practice and class just like any sports coach would, I wouldn't be the musician or the person I am today. He may not have been gentle, and it may not have been pleasant at times, but I needed every bit of it. Dr. Wilhoit, we, the few seniors of the music department, miss you.
Professor of dread,
Wielding mighty baton,
Stealing souls, leaving dead,
Will to proceed gone.
To some a threat,
To the older a friend,
On your soul bet,
Else life comes to an end.
Office's icy blast,
As door opens wide,
A student's lambast,
Mere husk of their hide.
In spite of his terror,
I love him still:
Cloak passed to new wearer,
Only one trump on the Hill.
Leaving horcrux behind,
He'll infinitely live,
Echo of his horn's wind,
No more wisdom to give.
A new conquering force,
Imploding our home,
Cry till I'm hoarse,
Made bow to their throne.
Soon away I'll fly,
Away from disgrace,
Ignoring their lies,
Destroy this place.
Dearest professor we love,
We'll follow you soon,
Seniors booted with a shove,
Refusing Stevie D's tune,
There may be only two,
Standing on these desks,
Nothing else we can do,
To prevent this ugly mess.
Standing tall, cap in hand,
Farewell younger bliss.
O Captain, my Captain,
You will be sorely missed.
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