When all so out of sorts does fall,
And I so need to calm my nerves,
My dear, upon my bed, does call,
"Lie down to conjugate some...verbs!"
My notebook dear is dressed in satin
(For that is all I mean to say),
Sometimes for Greek, sometimes for Latin,
But French I ravish every day.
Through all the persons I admire
And through all the numbers I can score,
Still second singular's my desire,
For "you" is mine forevermore.
And as I lounge in stressless tenses,
I sing imperfect without bind.
Let not the past so cloud your senses!
The future's aspect's in the mind.
And when I'm feeling in the mood
To be subjunctive in my claim,
I'm optative to be not rude
On the conditions of my dame.
As lips do part when they speak forms
Linguistics cunning's in my norms.