Still alive At fifty-five I thought I'd go to school; And now, you see, At sixty-three I cannot break the habit. And so I yawn Each day at dawn And climb into my Rabbit So I can meet, Be in my seat, In time to learn a rule That someone thought I really ought To know in speaking Spanish; Or fight with nouns And other clowns The grammar book dispenses. And everywhere That dismal pair Of petulant past tenses! If only they Would go away -- I mean, just simply vanish! Or better yet, Could I forget The way that they entice me, Then I could stay In bed all day, Or longer, if it pleased me. Oh how I yearn Some days to spurn The compulsion that has seized me, Let rocking chair And TV fare Be ample to suffice me.