I went to the School of
I Don’t Know.
It’s a mystery school
where it all goes slow.
Then it all goes fast
and then it goes sour.
They never charge you;
it’s free by the hour.

The school is rocky
and it’s mired in slime.
You can go under at
any time.
But it doesn’t cost a nickel
and it doesn’t cost a penny.
It makes no sense ‘cause
you don’t have any.

It’s summer now and students
are at play,
But they’ll return most any old day.
Sadder and wiser and some of them wider.
All that beer and apple cider.
If you want a diploma from this old school,
There isn’t any paper and there isn’t any rule.
It’s run by hand by an old old fool.

Vicki Woodyard