I leave to other colleges the haunted tales
Of founders who floundered and blood-chilling wails.
Here at Franciscan, we’re a hardened breed.
It takes worse fears than phantoms to make us take heed.
For here you hear stories of lost GPAs;
See heart-stopping specters of young PDA.
Nightshade? Iocaine? Don’t make me laugh.
No need to fear poison; we’re immuned by the caf.
The thoughts and worries that infect our nights
Make creepies and crawlies look altogether too light.
What if the swing dancing should be lacking in men?
What if the espresso maker breaks, again?
And when the campus is filled with fog so fell
There’re no barrows to flee, but ugh — that smell!
A murderous ghost? — We need not fear it.
At Franny, the real fear is not being slain in the Spirit.
And if faced with a phantom at which others might quake,
We say, “Step aside, friend; I’ve a midterm to take.”
And when all of the chapels fill with students’ cries;
When those sweet freshman romances start dropping like flies;
When the tests and assignments the professors all utter
Fill you with dread, make you shudder and splutter;
When your schedule is filled by test, exams and reports;
When the rugby team dons those very short shorts,
You’ll wish for the monsters that come in the night;
You’ll pine for the causes of traditional fright.
Forget the ghosts and the witches who leer;
These are the things a true Franny fears.