Sitting alone in the corner
With a notebook on my knee
Around I see a mild fervor
As I compose my poetry
A guitar sings to my right
And tunes of Back play in back
Bach's songs have great might,
While the guitar's might lack
In front, teacher tries to play
Some old DVD of Lit
Oh, it's playing now, hooray!
But still no one watches it
Now I try to finish this
But the teacher talks to me
Well this poem's a big miss
Lit class isn't the place to write poetry
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