This, for college presidents,

Is filled with simple sentiments

But not one simile or metaphor,

Which we'll all be the better for,

Although not everything is clear-cut since

There may be several easy hints,

And even one or two sprung

Rhythms, so the meter has feng

Shui, so the dictation, that is,

Conveys some fashioned satis-

Faction, reminding you and me

Of what literature was meant to be, 

Back when form was prized

And poetry was authorized.

I saw a mountain once, 

Before such sights were simply stunts,

Nothing more, and nothing less.

How moving.  Although, P.S. -

It didn't move at all, in fact

(Memory tends to overact),

But its finally came to symbolize

Something disproportionate in size -

At least for me, I mean:

To be believed, it must be seen -

Words alone cannot convey

What such distant glimpses say,

Their genius defined precisely by

A penchant to declassify,

Their jumbled, impossible-to-describe border

The opposite of any order, 

So a tendency to dabble

In different forms of babel

Might finally express

A purpose in a mess,

A handy passageway

In muck and disarray,

The themes we cannot utter

Hidden in the clutter,

Which might in turn imply 

(Ex hyposthesi)

That chaos and its kin aren't meant

For your rockbound college president.