I am being nerdy, despite myself. I am trying to completely cover one of the walls of our room with poetry. Clearly, I have too much free time on my hands. The poetry goes like this:

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

Songs:
How Can I Keep From Singing - Enya