If I had to do it all over, I would be smarter
to write a book. Regretted tears shed now.
Looking back, it is clearly shown how I
missed my fame and fortune, what was
once known all those teaching years;
student antics,
often played tricks,
misfired spits,
a conjured up ache,
excuses, excuses, excuses
not to partake.
"Forgot my book," he plead.
"He gave me a dirty look," she angrily said.
"Can't remember how to get the sum. My
mom didn't do math like this. Why? Should I?"
No pencil. No paper. (Oh, but plenty of gum!)
"Homework? What homework? There was no
homework." Also,"But, Miss Teacher, I tried."
"I need a hall pass,"she cried, while jumping
up and down and twirling around and around.
"It's an emergency. You gotta believe me!"
Silly gems in a journal I am sure I missed,
not writing comic anecdotes of this students'
past list. At last, my then younger head felt
so very numb, so I missed my chance to write a
ton more in this teacher's lore. In the story's end,
let's face it, at least my Kodak treasure is in
each moment when I got them all to SIT.
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