I thought you trackers ran this place,
Like some amazing poetry machines,
Whirling dervishes painting with words,
Pumping, thumping rhyming schemes,
All of the mighty Den Oaks like you,
Posting in this Poe-tic Peyton Place,
Have always been growing tall here,
Chock full of vim, vigor, and grace!
You have been here as far I can see,
This Camelot I can barely remember,
Magnificent, stately old library trees,
From each December to December.