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Sonnet 1
Although seated in a room years ahead of time,
it takes more than 12 years to make a scholar.
It is difficult to find sentences that rhyme,
and my lunches are equivalent to one dollar.
I'm always keeping one eye on the clock,
waiting to escape this loaded jail.
I hear distant music that sounds like rock,
proclaiming that my efforts are doomed to fail.
While writing poems that make no sense,
The resident extras mock my every word
with no regard for any consequence.
There is no doubt that they shouldn't be heard.
If none of my words are by any means true,
then I truly feel sorry for you.