Ballad for YBR
YBR, with books piled high,
Thy weary heart lets out a sigh.
School’s toils have bound thee, worn and mute,
Yearning for the medieval lute.
Soft strings sing through ancient air,
A minstrel’s touch to ease despair.
Let cares take flight, let joy resume,
In lute’s sweet strains, thy soul shall bloom.