Sonnet 18 Redux

Shall I script one last poetry essay?
Thou art assigned, though my efforts abate:
Our calendars lack only two ‘til May,
And summer’s dawn hath all too soon a date:
Sometime too close our graduation shines,
And often do the teachers try to fight this;
And every grade from great sometime declines,
By now they ought to know, ‘tis senioritis;
When reading this, thou might scowl unimpressed
And curse my interruptions with a grimace;
Apologies, I learned from Kanye West,
But you’re not Taylor, so I’m-a let you finish:
So long as Ke$ha tiks and Tiger grins,
So long lives us, the class of 2010.