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

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