My Class Poem by Mathew Thomas

I teach a class of students' lex,
Who leave me with a complex,
And pass time with iphones,
Listen to nothing but the tones,
Muted, and wouldn't want to know,
Difference between a scone and stone,
And expect to pass without a tome.

They are always late,
And say the hostels they hate,
Rush in from the gate,
And promise never to be late,
Lex they state,
Is never on any slate,
And want it on a plate.

What is property that is tangible?
Turn to ponder at the intangible,
I wonder how knowledgeable,
And ask me Sir, is it manageable?
And say it is possible,
They are, but incorrigible,
To pass the test is probable,
Yet I love them is palpable.