The first Campus dean

I believed in
a feasible micro-society.
The resident professor,
who stays late in the evening,

letting his lamps burn

to welcome his sons home:
a married couple graduates together.
Science never falls in sleep
in a time of sex in the making.

Too many men per hectare,
fanatical with the Vietcong and Che Guevara,
filched between the lines,
playing hopscotch, skipping and jumping
to have their say on the green
campus nearby the Blom farm.

There was always someone against
the things I was against.

I was someone who always strove

hard to maximise
something unparalleled.

The culture here bears my legacy,
fluctuating rapidly in its manifested form;

its content is like a caterpillar on my desk,

inching behind the good, old group velocity.

My grandsons read the zeitgeist
while I'm with my wife
stepping on a bicycle, cycling to the city 

to sip a cappuccino in a café
and chat with a former student.
He speaks colourfully of a time,
a life lived well.