Gentle gale, why art thou blowing,
For do you know it is scarcely eight in the morning?
Instead of focusing on numbers and words,
Thou hast tempted me to soar among birds,
Free in the sky, without a care in the world,
While I am imprisoned with my fingeres 'round a pen curled,
Copying letters and adding numbers as the breeze is heard
Fiery sun, why art thou shining,
While I am stuck in school repining?
I long to dance in the warmth of the sun's mighty stare,
But instead I must take a number and find its square,
How long I can resist the sun's call I do not know,
Even a brief glimpse of heavenly light is too much to undergo,
Before with all my might, I race into the sun's bright glow
Blooming flowers, why art thou so sweet,
Tempting me to pluck a nearby bud to keep?
For thousands of luscious lilacs are blooming right outside the window,
So close to my desk, that the intoxicating aroma is too much for one to know,
Vibrant violets, fragrant orange blossoms, and small blue, buds fill my head,
Until I conclude that it would be better to be dead,
With a wreath of blossoms 'round my head,
Than to be taking this test, instead.