The Hounds Of Hell... Poem by anais vionet

Summer's almost over - that convalescent state
where successive modes of pleasure
were the order of the day.
Now fall commands awakening -
drive simplicity away! The hounds
of hell yelping that it's time to banish play.
They cry "forget unscheduled hours
that owned no share of care - the virtual halls
are scheduled and we'll soon see you there."
No apotropaic magic can delay my slated fate -
to pixelated halls of learning I must soon acclimate.