Days go by without a word said,
Not a page is turned
And the book is still unread.
Activities planned, tests run,
We have our worries,
But no results to calm our qualms.
The days that were blue and sprightly
Are now drab, grey but wet - slightly.
If these dreams of ours were ever to fly
We might have to forget sleeping on the sly.
But these circles of darkened flesh
Around each and every eye-
No matter that the day is fresh-
Ask your purpose, they ask you why.
As the days go by,
Neither words, nor a lively note
Can disturb the now-forgotten monk
Who said he'll never get drunk
On this mission of his.