Too Sleepy For German Class
The scratchy fog extends its stay,
behind the eye's shield to the day.
It's sticky tendrils bind each eye,
so that from sunlight they do shy.
I sip the tonic to address
the stress,
and sleepy mind's duress.
And yet the fog it travels still,
through arms and legs, consumes my will.
The wooden chair cannot provide,
a single comfort to my hide.
Accordingly,
die grammatik,
refuses in my mind to stick.
Um Gottes Willen! When will this end?
So that I may begin to mend,
the body and the soul that did,
in passage to adult from kid,
surrender all it's liberty,
to honored University,
in pursuit of the highest dream,
to live on gold, champagne and cream.
But till that time I must endure,
the lectures on die Deutsche Kultur.
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