Ode of midterms

O’ mid past beyond the pale

I seethe from the toiling of purple prose,

The purity of my words, a fable.



Make merry on the hours of darkness

For I dance to a different master’

O’ mid past the beyond the pale.



Scoff again at my lumbering prose

For lonely words does not a friendship make?

Still, my purity of words, a fable.



Quail from the cloud of apprehension

I seek out your rhyme of song

O’ mid past beyond the pale.



It is thoughts that my mind avoids doing

Why does my prose flounder?

You jest the purity of my words, a fable.



Hark not you mischievous sprite of the mid terms

O’ mid past beyond the pale

from the time when the purity of my words, persist in fable.