Each hour is routine dreary!
Each tick signals the next tock
Forehead on the table
As if on the chopping block

The mice without their tails!
Are groped by grubby hand
Whilst pen and quill cry in cup
Unused refused and trampled down

But Oh! Beyond the window
But what is that I see?
Perfection in its finery
And she is beckoning for me

Avast! And don’t be sullied  
The dream is not for real!
This boy is in a daydream
Calloused from reality

For occupation is a tid bit boring
But hope is in the people
And love is out beyond four walls
Beyond few more hours to endure