Sonnet 18

Shall I compare my university to a park?
Thou art uglier and more chaotic
Each questioning paper is ended with good luck
As a pretense of being so much romantic

Usually we say tomorrow it will shine
And often nothing happen instead of more pain
Scattered and shocked as the marks aren't mine
We shout and cry as being a group of insane

Then a huge feeling from within arise named depression
Hesitating if we are in a university or a graveyard?
No success just a soft burning of our ambition
But this won't work on me because I'm the bard

And so man will someday notice and his eyes must see
So long this will live and show my real university