Fall in Friartown
by Taylor Rogers ’24
A rainbow of colors fall from the sky,
Invading every inch of Slavin’s grass field.
Students aimlessly walk throughout campus,
Wondering when the current lockdown will yield.
As the rainbow falls, the wind begins to blow,
Persuading people to take out their sweaters.
With pumpkin spice coffees in hand, students rush to class,
Hoping that soon, everything will be better.
The rainbow of leaves fly,
Their orange, red, and yellow hues flee into students’ dorm rooms.
Amazed, they wistfully look out their windows,
Knowing that soon, fall and her beauty will begin to bloom.
More leaves fall from the trees, their color reminding students
That, yes, fall has finally appeared.
Excitedly, students begin to buy Halloween candy,
Snacking away and hoping Halloween this year isn’t weird.
The leaves soon turn into piles,
These clumps, the same size as the stacks of notes on students’ desks.
As the students begin to work, the piles begin to shrink,
And they find themselves looking for something to cure their feelings of unrest.
More days pass by and the leaf clumps grow,
Beginning their invasion of PC’s grassy fields.
Meanwhile, the students invest themselves in fall activities,
Ready to see what this fall will yield.
Giggles erupt as students jump into leaf piles,
Their inner child letting worry turn to glee.
With grins on hidden under their masks, students play,
And the atmosphere around Providence feels more carefree.
The piles of leaves grow and grow,
Matching the rate of people’s smiles and new friends.
While the leaves die around them, the students still have hope,
Knowing that like the seasons, this pandemic is sure to end.
by Sarah Heavren ’21
A rainbow of colors
A gentle breeze
Tickling the branches
Waving at me.
Little squirrels scampering
Across the grass
The smell of the season
Coming to pass.
Cloudless, deep blue skies
The freshest air
Crisp as a tart apple
Grown with true care.
Winter is drawing near
With a bleak hue.
But winter brings changes
That will change too.
In moments of sheer doubt,
Moments of pain,
Just simply remember
Seasons will change.
by Sean Tobin ’20
One of mine, but given:
Today when I arise
And see slow-rolling skies
Illuminate what lies
This bleak side of heaven,
Just one thought do I save—
How bless’d this northern shore;
The same which fathers fore,
Sea-sick, God-starved, back-sore,
Saw and knew they must have;
We know the sounds she made,
To hear minute man’s shout,
The Sacred Harp throughout,
Oak leaves falling round ’bout,
Over and over played;
Is she not the same still?
Green mountains surrounding,
Waves on white rock pounding,
Life through valleys sounding—
New England steals her fill, and so much more.