Altivo

Once upon a Monday dreary
As I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
Suddenly there came a sapping
Of my energies, a napping
I could but resist it weakly as my spirits hit the floor.
'Tis low blood sugar, I uttered,
Short of breakfast, yes, I muttered.
So it leaves my pulse afluttered, only this and nothing more.

But my eyes perchance were glancing
As I said this, looked askancing
At the weekly calendar that hangs so boldly by the door.
There I spied the truth unwanted
Weighing down my heart, and panted
Almost thought my hope was dead and soul departed from the war.
This the fact that hit so badly,
Made me cry in pain so madly:
Five days until the weekend! Sadly, I shall get there nevermore.

[With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe, but not too many.]