[Woe to you oh relative grading, who assigns grades in wrath. Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of my least (GPA). For it is a human number; its number is six point six six.]

I start off each semester
With dreams of cracking a ten;
But that is just the beginning, let me
Say what happens then:

The mid-sems come too early,
They don't go off very fine;
So after the halfway mark,
My hopes go down to nine.

My vivas are plain pathetic,
And for term-work, I am late;
So after submissions week,
My hopes go down to eight.

The end-sems come, I study like
I've never studied before:
I'm studying in a single week,
What I should have in four!

The semester is now over,
And I'm hoping for a seven;
I deserve at least that, I think
When I'm looking up to heaven.

Then results are finally out,
And I am in a fix:
Inspite of my prayer and effort,
I end up with a six.

I laugh, I kid, I joke, I jeer
After each disaster,
That to score a ten, there is
Always the next semester.!