The doom comes soon,

each time,

finishing the spright lapse,

asking us to wish for more.


We compound ourselves,

to the contrasting change,

yet again,

inevitably letting it go off our hands


As students,

we let the enjoyment,

go to hell,

to welcome the examinations.


At the same time,

we wish for exams,

to go to exile,

or let us go to one.


Let us loiter,

as sloths,

permitting us to,

be mavericks.