Examining papers, our passim pedagogue
Was asked to give a monologue
Concerning matters bright
In hope he would forget our indited trite.
Rejecting our Machiavellian plea
He decried “Utterance no more from ye —
My soul’s disjoined
From compost — uh, compositions — coined
By minds afraid to pen
A decent line in English Ten.”
Alas, force to let him be,
We returned to mythology
With throbs in our ears the cadence of
Copyright © 2008 Richard R. Kennedy All rights reserved. Revised: Aug 4, 2008.
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