Class starts at eight

With summer over, it's now time
To turn back to our desks
To perk our ears to school-bell chime
And tasks so kafkaesque

Really, just what is the point
Of those eight hours a day?
It's that time adult appoint
We get out of their way.

At eight, like clockwork.

Friday now has come once more
And here's my little rhyme
I've given you all scads before
And will again, this time.

Oops

A smile on second life is fake
any emotion we suggest here
is just a thing that's built or baked
or wrapped up into a gesture.

And because I just woke up
From unexpected nap
There are no bumps in tonight's show.

I'm baaaaaaack

July has passed, and other tasks
are now as done as one might hope
Meanwhile, such drama has transpired
as to make one wish for a hermit's life.
In one's own home, there is less chance
of sunburn...heatstroke...
and the relative stupidity of fellow man.
Wonder on this!
An online club has a roof.