Silliness

While reading through Eliot, I was reminded of a spoof I wrote during Brit Lit last year. And even though I am now so far separated and graduated, I still remember this feeling. So, for your amusement (one way or the other) I present:


The Paper-Writing Song of -----

And indeed there will be time
Time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And a thousand more revisions;
But how should I begin?
And what should I presume?

I have measured out my term with coffee spoons.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the coffee, M&Ms, DP,
Among the frenzied late-night ASEs;
Would it have been worth while
If one, setting down a red pen, emptied, by my name
Should say: "That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all."

No! I am not Shakespeare, nor was meant to be;
Am full of run-on sentences, not quite acute;
At times, indeed, almost illiterate—
Almost, at times—Forsooth!

I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear my curlers rolled.

I have lingered at my desk
By books covered with letters black on white
Till my roommate’s voice has waked me, at the end of night.

And would it have been worth it, after all?