Christopher Coughlin

The Best TIme Of Year

It starts with sixty-four,
The ones left out wanting more.
Down to thirty-two,
Nothing but your best will do.
Upset minded, who'll get through?
The next sixteen are sweet,
Looking to avoid defeat.
Then comes the elite eight,
Hoping to secure their fate.
This is no time for dead weight.
Finally it's the final four,
No one can predict the score.
The championship is on the line,
The thought of glory runs through your mind.
Now it's your time to shine.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.