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The Master of Ezra Stiles
had a three-legged chair
where no one could sit, 
the pure of heart.
I pitied the Associate Professor,
professing to know. 
Lenny went
head over heels
sealing an untenured fate
at Yale.
I couldn't wait
to tell him of the mattress
with no springs,
and all the things that didn't 
go bump 
in the night.