STUDENT'S LAMENT

From my rented postage stamp with no garden

to call my own except my window box,

I observe the dreary perspective

of colossal concrete tenement -

grey roof tiles, scuffed dun-coloured doors -

and perceive my first symbol of independence

as if between mirrors, forming an extensive

column of shabby replicas

anonymously occupied.

                                              But professors 

own their stately bricks and mortar, 

and the land upon which it stands. 

Such substance makes

my visual observation a peasant's eyeful

that inferiority defines as cruelly taunting - a

pointless squandering of youthful years -

and all for what? 

A futile attempt to ape possessor

                                              of ancestral silver spoon.