Droning, droning, on and on,
The teacher sings a tuneless song.
My mind gives way to the beat
And finds lessons in counting sheep.

A week has passed, or maybe two.
How long it lasts! My patience is through.
But when I look at the time,
Its only been some minutes - nine.

"Turn to this page," the teacher says.
That's my cue: I lift my head.
I can play this boring game;
I'm master of attention feigned.

What's the point  of an hour
Dedicated to fruitless shower
Of words and words I've read before?
I tell you this, I can't take more.

Then it ends and we are free.
My mind floods over with relief,
Until I remember with pain
That soon we'll do it all again.