Quasimodo on Skis

If my mind were not so decliningmy brain less terribly frail,I might find life more delightingand my fortunes less likely to fail.But somehow I flunk at thinkingI falter when using my head.My intellect off-light keeps blinking,my thunker remains abed.I read so as to augment,hoping to somehow retain.But soon I find I'm ceasing,the effort too hard to sustain.So my life is mule like working,head down with burdens to bear;most are born for labor,only some for mindful repair.Oh for the life of a scholar,a life spent considering fact;but really I cannot holler,I'm paid well to keep up the act.