I don't own The Dead Poets Society, and I freely give the extraordinary amount of credit that is deserved to those that do. Also, 'Tis the Last Rose of Summer' was written by Tomas Moore. This fic, however, is mine.
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming all alone,
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.
Charles Dalton looked around at the familiar sight of Welton's vast fields of snow. It was melting now, from the spring's coming heat, but he didn't find it any less lovely than the bright green of spring; if there was one thing he'd learned it was to appreciate the poetry of every form the world could take. It had been a hard-earned lesson, with a price none of them should have had to pay.
Over the winter break, he'd made several decisions about his life. He wanted to show the world what Professor Keeting had showed to him- how to live life to the fullest, the meaning of Carpe Diem. But he wasn't going to go to college. He wasn't going to give them the chance to pound this out of his head.
Whistling a tune, he walked towards the school. It was only when he reached the doors that he recognized it as the piece the Captain his captain, had always sung. What they had done to him was unforgivable, but not all of those who now sat inside the great hall were to blame.
Dimly, he wondered if the simple tune had any lyrics. He ought to find out one of these days, and if it didn't well, he'd just have to write some, wouldn't he? It would be his first real poem.
In the corner of his vision, he could have sworn that, for an instant, Neil had been standing there, smiling that amused, unsure yet cocky smile of his. Charlie often saw Neil when he thought of poetry. After all, it had been Neil who had resurrected the Dead Poets Society, it had been Neil who had truly taken the Captain's words to heart and insisted that the rest of them do the same.
It had, of course, been his imagination, but sometimes, he wasn't so sure that it was. Sometimes, he could almost hear his friend eagerly chiding him on, or offering encouragement, or just laughing. It scared him, those moments. It would scare anyone.
Knox Overstreet was the first out of the building; he'd been standing there longer than he had thought and the welcome ceremonies seemed to have ended.
'Hey!' Knox called, sounding oddly cheerful, as though he was trying too hard. 'What'cha doing here, Newanda?'
Charlie shrugged. 'Not much, just came by to see how you were all doing, say my good-byes.'