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Tuesday
May 29, 2012
1:45pm EDT


  >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Comedy >> ID #1484230  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
The Test
A bit of a long poem based on a test I had to take.
Rated:
13+
by
Avg Rating: (8)
The autumn leaves sway with the breeze
And what is shaking, it’s my knees
As the new school semester looms ahead
Forcing me out of my comfortable bed

First I must take the Einstufungstest
And I assure you I will do my best
But there is much that I do now regret
To study would have been a better bet!

Deep in my stomach I feel queasy,
This test, I know, will not be easy,
To take a test entirely in the German,
I have nothing for luck, no talisman.

And here it comes, we line up now,
A to L, M to Z, two lines, and how!
Nearly a hundred of students to line,
As if they were a long piece of twine.

The line comes to around a large bend,
And it is time for it to come to my end.
In the room I go, heart all aflutter,
Hey, there I see my old instructor!

On a hard wooden bench I sit,
And I bring nothing, to wit,
Except for paper and passport,
My pen, without which I’d abort.

The first part of the test is passed,
Which should have left me aghast;
Grammatik, my so ancient foe,
A difficult subject, nothing pseudo.

And so I begin, with written gusto,
Aber, obwohl, Trotz, weil, also!
And most of it I make complete,
But how uncomfortable, my seat!

The second part came before me,
A difficulty, for all there to see!
Eine Textproduktion, an essay,
Which I would have to slay!

Fun, this second part was not,
As essays are by me not sought,
In German or in any language,
And always to me a great umbrage!

I make myself scribble what I can,
And must feel as if a hanged man,
My every word against me count,
No sentence allowed a discount.

I make a mistake here and there,
scribble it out, with much flair.
And then finally, I’m finished,
Feeling internally diminished.

And then I leave the class,
And think to myself, alas!
Maybe I go to Mittelstuffe
To which I'd say, "Oof'a!"

I walked all the way to home,
And sat, hair needing comb,
Before my computer, so happy,
Write this poem, which is so sappy.

And now, I give you one last line,
And must say, that it is just fine,
If with it I don’t quite rhyme,
Because I’m just too fricking tired.
© Copyright 2008 Lonewulf (UN: lonewulf at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Lonewulf has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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