A venture which begins with a step,

A cliché repeated throughout history.

The friends we must not forget,

Four years leaves oil-paint memories.

My journey departs in a land of fiction,

One that I have yet but seen.

The philosophical lecture hall depiction,

Has been only in my dreams.

Faces on heads which have never been seen,

The brain does not recognize a soul.

Verses of poets and ventures that mean,

Everything in the way that they grow.

If the way that we grow is the trail we leave

To forest into the unknown,

Then my path must have trees, and bushes, and streams

To commemorate the people I know.