Classics Class - a Teacher's Lament on Students' Descent

"Publish or perish!" the principal said.
Perhaps I would be better off left for dead.
My dreams, they are filled with inkblots of red,
And my editing pencil has run out of lead.

A sophomoric essay has caught me off-guard,
Comparing an MTV star to the Bard.
Old Will's reputation is suddenly marred
By teen disrespect and complete disregard.

My poetry class is reciting a verse
That's turning Lord Byron's best work into curse.
I'm trying my hardest to help them converse,
But I fear I am certainly making things worse.

At last, honors students are filing on in.
My hopes, they are rising, for class to begin.
I crave real discussion and self-discipline
From these upperclass scholars, who seek their sheepskin.

But, alas, aspirations are dashed to the dust,
Let down, disappointed by my great brain trust.
I crumple, downhearted, in clouds of chalk dust,
As passion for classics gives way to teen lust.

Yet I will return to the front of the class,
For I have been hired by the best of the brass.
And, regardless of knowledge they fail to amass,
I know that my class will be graded for pass.