This poem is written by (obviously) me and DOES NOT HAVE ANY INTENTION other than to express my thoughts (like every other poet does).
I was liking maths,
Until beaver came.
Things changed and
Now it will never be the same.
GC-abuser was fun,
And full of wonderful crap.
Now that he's gone, all that I do
During maths lessons are to take a nap.
With its teeth bulging out,
Pulling its pants so high up,
Face disfigured with poked marks.
No doubt, it's a beaver gone wrong, yup!
Blur like a sotong,
Though it's a beaver.
A little retarded, as though
It had been struck by a high fever.
Beaver snorts,
Eww, my ears hurt!
With its mindless mumbling,
Like a pathetic mathematics nerd.
What do you get, of a cross
Between a beaver and a mental case?
The answer's very simple, and
It's staring at you in the face....
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