MY teacher, when I went to school, would lam me with a pole, when I defied his tyrant rule, which jarred and chafed my soul. I'd mutter, when he left on me full many a wale and bruise, "When I'm grown up I'd hate to be in that blamed teacher's shoes! When I'm a man, unless he's dead, for all my grief and pain, I'll surely punch his old bald head, and split his face in twain." The years passed by, and I became a man of famous might; I had a great and stalwart frame, my whiskers were a sight. And so I sought that teacher out; I met him at his door, and said to him, "I was, old scout, a pest in days of yore. When I recall the fiendish tricks I played, with ribald glee, I wonder that you used small sticks when you were pounding me. I was a wicked little dub, who riled you all day long; you should have used a big spiked club, to show me I was wrong." The teacher fell upon my neck, and I reclined on his, and through his tears he said, "By heck!" and I remarked, "Gee whiz!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FROM THE CANTEEN by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN TO A TERRIER by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE VOICE OF THOUGHT by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS AUTUMN PROPHECY by GORDON DALE CLARKE MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL; A STATUETTE: 2; SONNET by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK |