After having left school at the age of twelve, and having the temerity to go to University at the age of 75, I awaited my results with some fear and trepidation. A strange experience at my age, but worthy I thought of a poem.

I wait in my house for the postman’s knock.
Like a frightened mouse as I watch the clock.
Was that some chuckles I heard from the sky,
Making white knuckles those ghosts up on high.

Presumptuous fool thinking I’ve passed.
Where’s the dunces cap it has come at last.
What an insolent cur trying to break-in.
My writings a blur, my structures a sin.

But the pleasures been mine, this returning to school,
University’s been fine and knowing them all.
We all became friends in that writing class,
but everything ends and I pray for a pass.

The postman’s here, and I open the letter.
A joyful tear, it could not be better.
Passed on both with one a merit.
To boast I’m loth, but in my heart a credit.