The Collegiate Pursuit

Four years droning on;

Class, study, laundry, cook, clean, study;

Day in, day out.

To be followed by Saturday,

A day with friends,

Thoroughly pickled,

Feed momentary Hilarity for University disparity;

“But I am a scholar!”

Ooh, the prophecy glowered,

For retribution comes Sunday,

The day of no sun; lie shriveled in bitterness.

Brush it off,

Time for class, monotony insists.

It must be Monday.

Feeling rather drab? 

Uncover the bleak

so others may be weak,

They’d say, “Live a little,”

With a highlight reel beaming

There be no room for weeping.

Two-hundred acclimations of such noble validation,

Handsome I was,

There be no room for weeping.

Undistinguished yet sagacious, graceful I stood

A dexterous façade,

Hitherto unfurnished.