'Tis 12 o'clock and from study I break

A test to come of the poets I know

I learn their words for my own sake

'Tis always the way that things go

We learn not what our minds desire

But that which we're by teachers taught

Still questions and answers in my mind I mire

Though I know not if I really aught.

To look at my book there are letters and words

Bold for me to see

And so I lay and hear no birds

I only read continually

The teacher says that we must learn

The poets of yesteryear

But oh how much I really yearn

In their homes to peer.

May I judge those who cannot judge me

From their eyes I believe I would flee

So what keeps them in the light for us all

To see them considered each big or small

This poet right here, his sister he adored

Quite frankly with it all I am thus bored

For exciting stories I cannot find

In this poetry section I've left behind.

But one more sonnet I must read

Oh this I do not need

Who can save me from this horror I feel

That poetry is not real?

No one can you foolish boy

Who seeketh too often joy

Read poetry for what to you it means

Not those who wrote the scenes.