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Not Averse
I fear I am not in my perfect mind:
As examiners so cruelly,
In the chilling hall where I’m confined,
Tell us to start the task assigned
For three grim hours. For my degree
I fear I am not in my perfect mind
As I try to get my brain on line,
Searching amongst my fact-debris.
In the inky hall where I’m confined
As my pen moves blankly line to line
Controlled by the wrist of an amputee,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
The questions posed are so unkind:
Parse—calculate—discuss … I see
In the panic hall where I’m confined
My friends have piled up eight or nine
Close-written sheets, but as for me
I fear I am not in my perfect mind
In the lonely hall where I’m confined.