March Twenty-Third, Two Thousand Ten
senioritis~
the ultimate excuse,
oh yes indeed.
here i sit, my studyhall
not the most useless class of all
no of course not.
so here i sit, typing this
to you
and as i'm typing this poem
with no work to be done
or at least,
no work i'm going to do
and i will uphold my A's and B's
as my teachers continue stressing
over the work that,
basicly none of us are ever going to do.
Oh highschool,
what fun you really are.
poem by David Thomas
Added by Poetry Lover
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