“Look at that paper!”
She yelled with a sigh;
“That sloppy handwriting
Is straining my eyes!”
“You are so lazy,”
Teacher accused with a huff;
“I’ve had it young man,
I’ve taken enough!”
Yes teacher, you are
Correct when you say,
That you have “taken enough”
Of this young boy away:
He used to be wide-eyed and eager to learn,
Full of questions and answers that continually burned.
The ideas in his head
Would ignite with speed,
Taking him anywhere
That his mind would lead.
When he entered that boundary
Commonly called “school,”
His thoughts were unwelcome-
There were too many rules.
He didn’t pay attention,
He never sat still;
His papers were messy-
Teacher, you had your fill.
You took his sparkle,
His music, his prance;
And to your tune
He had to dance.
He smothered his wonder,
His awe, his joy;
Just so he could be
A good little boy.
Teacher, from his seat,
He heard your sigh;
His ambition froze,
But the spark didn’t die:
It smoldered, it steamed,
And sometimes consumed:
The bad boy grew up
And composed his own tune.
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