You see them at the station and you bump them on the street,
They seem to have a knack of getting underneath your feet.
Bundle laden, sweating, wild and red of eye,
It's not a riot or a strike, but freshmen marching by.
Eagerly they ask you where and how to go;
And though they ask it twenty times, they never will quite know.
Thousands have gone through before the same ordeal as they,
And years ago though it may be, remember to this day.
All have come to conquer though from near or far,
And each believes his destiny is harnessed to a star.
We could not dissuade them should we care to try,
And so we merely stand and watch the freshmen marching by.