Canadian Lawyer 4Students

Fall 2009

Life skills and career tips for Canada's lawyers in training

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When I began studying law at McGill University two years ago, I was told to expect an arid fi eld. Instead, I discovered a fertile soil of inspiration that branched off in many other disciplines and crafts. One of them was poetry. While not directly related to law, these poems were written at my study desk during the intense period of preparation for fi nal exams. They stand for the short instances when I slipped from the formal study of law into the elation, the wondering, and sometimes, the fl eeting disappointment that comes with discovering a new universe and the people that inhabit it. Dreaded hour of the night I dread the hour of the night When laden with a full day's toll, My drooping eyelids give up fi ght The loose leaves from my fi ngers fall. How dreadful sleep then seems to me How vile to choke between the sheets The fl ame of old, while slovenly The present shirks the mind's great feast. Awake, would I burn long enough To reach old Chronos in his curse And blazing on his cenotaph To meld Aidion with the Earth, No longer would the dread then fi nd My drooping eyelids as they fall Over these tired lines I write To bargain for a full day's toll. I ride the steam horn I ride the steam horn of a locomotive Driving thought on rails Into tunnels Slicing mountains In thin air the mist evaporates The whistle slips an answer In mind's pocket. Bogdan (Alex) Dobrota spent the summer at McCarthy T├ętrault LLP in Montreal. n The day I'll die The day I'll die, Lead, heavy and grey, May fall from the sky My fi ngers may remember Pinching this shoulder blade And fi nding nothing Other than ground Heavy and brown Trickling slow On the reason for ratio. The day I'll die Squares and circles Incoherent and helpless May unravel their charm And throw down a line From a bridge to a star. The day I'll die My fi ngers may try To shake off the mass Of unmoving off One last frosty grin I may feel like an ant Thrashing air on her back Who never learned to walk Who never wished to stay Who lived only in may. BY BOGDAN (ALEX) DOBROTA STUDENTS ' PAGE

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