The classroom is your ideal world;
Grades, your trusted friend.
Who are you to rate our worth
With your numbers, wretched machine?
You have no mind of your own,
Yet pass judgement on us all.
Your delight is in the genius mind,
And your pleasure in average scores.
But some you scarcely bless at all,
Or worse, you bless the best
With a different sense of knowledge--
With brains so different from the rest--
That your trusted friend rejects them,
Your world shuns them when they fall.
Outcast geniuses are hidden
In the midst of us all.