I am afraid I have gone quite insane
Since summer's started, something's gone amiss
My motivation's missing: down the drain
I am unsure of how it came to this.
On school's last day I'd plans to ply my trade
To do those useful things I used to do
I think that hopeful me would be dismayed
Perhaps the present me is saddened too.
Was poetry my passion in the past?
I feel like once I was a number man
A rhyme reveals the sorcery I've cast:
This pun is what's become of summer plans
That's it. I'm done. The mic has just been dropped.
At three quatrains this poem should have stopped.
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