The Weekend

Sitting at school, I look up at the clock,
As tired as a worn-out shoe and all alone,
I can’t wait to run around the block.

A surge of excitement would be well known.
Leave this prison trap we call school,
Where students moan and teachers groan,

A break from school would be as precious as a jewel.
When will the clock finally strike three?
By the last period, this place almost feels cruel.

On a day like today, students cannot wait to flee.
The final day of the week is finally here.
“Fifteen more minutes!” The teacher decrees,

But all we can think about is the days we get to disappear.
Almost done, the weekend is only what we want to hear.