Time has stopped. The hands hang idle. 
My restless spirit champs at the bridle.
The want is to run, to romp, to play 
But for now is locked away. 

Wind up the clock. Push forth the hands. 
Lead us from this barren land. 
Our thirst for knowledge does over flow
For impure waters are all we know. 

No motion. No breeze. None in sight. 
Our sails hang empty. Our vessel quiet. 
Do not despair. It will not get worse. 
Class has ended as I wrote this verse.