The Bouncing Ball

The bouncing basket ball

Is the first thing I always hear in the morning darkness

And the last thing I hear at night before I fall to sleep

It comes slowly down the cement paths

Passes loudly beneath our windows

And then quickly fades into the background

It bounces all day long, and as the sun rises

Its echoes increase across all the campus

In an unending staccato

I do not know who controls this bouncing ball

The guiding hand that often slips

Making its sound an irregular rhythm upon my day

I suspect that the ball has no human owner

But is itself the true master of the people

I am always too tired in the morning to get up

To find out whom it might really be