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Monday, November 29, 2004


   Farewell, Carefree Weekend . . .
You were a lovely little break,
Allowed me time to breathe and shake,
And now it's time to go,
Another week 'til I may take,
A leave from schoolwork's flooding lake,
And float off in the flow.

Three essays down and one to write,
Which now I must throw all my might,
The Spartans I describe,
With five more passings of sun's light,
I'll try my best to fight the fight,
The prof I cannot bribe.

I may the vow which I'll keep true,
I'll leave not 'til the last to do,
Procrastination's bad,
And now two thousand words get through,
'Til hands go numb and face goes blue,
These habits make me sad.

Now armed with ol' Microsoft Word,
The hive of History I've stirred,
I must keep at the mark,
My sources tell of what they've heard,
Though I choose if they're true or turd,
My social life goes dark.

And frankly I have no free time,
To mess around with silly rhyme,
Especially bad as this,
Heroic romance of . . . . . ah screw it . . .


Let this be a lesson: even Chaucer hated this style of verse.

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