![](/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/download_171.jpg?itok=zcK3f8Kv)
A Sea-nior Year
These classes are higher than stormy waves,
And are taught at such a hasty pace!
I know, the teacher never promised me all A’s,
But will they offer very little grace!
How shall I ever make it across that stage?
To shake the hand of my principal.
Religiously studying is a royal pain,
But for its wages are of great gain.
I shall keep my eyes above the waves,
And sail into the endless unknown.
This poem is about:
Me