In the seventh building, those mosquitoes persist,
Never skipping a sweltering summer’s day.
From morn to dawn, their presence we can’t resist,
Their dominion spreads in every nook and bay.

Robust and sturdy, these mosquitoes thrive,
Their shared trait, a testament to their might.
Indoors, like in a greenhouse, they’re more than alive,
Their bloodthirsty nature, an endless appetite.

Having witnessed academia’s grand facade,
They’ve acquired the intellect’s subtle flair.
No ordinary buzz, their silence a charade,
Even engorged, they stay quiet, free of care.

Scholars’ influence, perhaps, has had its way,
Turning each mosquito into a disguise-wearing ace.
Introverted and sly, they vanish without delay,
Feasting on blood, yet calmly within high walls they embrace.