Thy son or daughter wouldst a lawyer be,
And so thou worriest for thy progeny.
The road is fraught, and hardy folk have failed,
And o’er the grading curve too few prevail.
Thou fearest the expense may prove too great.
Thou hopest for thy child a different fate:
Thy son couldst yet a doctor be,
And spend his hours at golf (or poetry)!
Thy daughter might take up a useful trade —
And truth be told, she might be better paid.

Nay, few are called to burn the midnight oil
And yea, the cost is great, and long the toil;
And not all youths prove equal to the task —
But think what bounty thou wilst reap at last
With ‘Esq.’ appended to thy daughter’s name.
Consider-ye how she might then repay
Thy long investment in her stock: a car?
A cottage where her parents might retire?
Thy son’s J.D.? Think-ye your funds well spent,
His future wealth an ample dividend.

(But woe betide thee should thy daughter prove
Idealist, should she her ambitions lose.
Despair-thou of a son in Legal Aid —
Your long investment ne’er will be repaid.)

Yet, if at night thy mind remains astir,
Take heart, good Madam; worry not, good Sir;
From this take comfort in the seasons hence:
At least thou hast not spawned a grad student!

Look not upon the lowly MFA.
Revilèd Master of the Arts, away!
Tempt not our children with thy life of ease;
Their sober minds want naught of your disease.
Cur, shave thy filthy beard, and cut your hair!
Proselytise on Derrida elsewhere!
Abhorrent hipster sloth, at once begone!
A legal education starts anon!