I mope through these drawn out days of schooling
daily work piles up consuming me
often I fall asleep and wake drooling
my disdain for school I could not foresee
If I could only learn on my own time
learning would be for pleasure, not the grade
then would reading and writing be sublime
instead the art of learning has decayed
But still I persist in coming to school
simply to be successful in my art
to prove my worth and not appear a fool
all for my desire to show I'm smart
I await the day I cross the stage
With diploma in hand I come of age
