This recently rediscovered gem is a poem that I wrote for my 11th grade English class. It was an ode to the blue composition notebook in which I wrote down the homework assignments that I never did. It tickled me to write something heartfelt about an inanimate object. Especially one for which I had such apathy.
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My assignment book, she withers,
I fear that she nears death.
The cover hangs by a single ring,
As she draws her terminal breath.
Struggling with great pain,
To retain the train of thoughts from my brain,
To bear the burden of my work,
Her cancer, curse, and bane.
Wrinkled, blue, and battered,
Of toil she doth tell,
Though I seldom heed much notice to her,
I understand quite well.
A collection of assignments,
Inside of her amasses,
All put aside,
All pushed away,
The urgency just passes.
Admired, the persistence,
Of this tired old blue friend,
Stay strong,
I lift this plague from you,
Your time is at its end.
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Buttercup's House 