REVENGE

When I was just a little child
Of disposition meek and mild,
As I was singing, blithe and gay,
In music class one springtime day,
An uncouth teacher, Mr. C.,
With face as red as it could be,
Stopped at my desk to chastise me
Because, he said, I sang off-key.
He had me sing alone, and then
Announced I needn’t sing again!

Now scores of years have come and gone
But still the mem’ry lingers on;
And, when I raise my voice to sing,
I hear his words and feel the sting,
Then softly hum so none will know
That I can’t warble la te do.
Some folks aren’t musically inclined;
But one thing certain comes to mind:
It is a cruel and monstrous thing
When children aren’t allowed to sing.
 
Although he was a horrid cad,
The cruelest teacher that I had,
I have forgiven Mr. C.
The way that he embarrassed me.
I hope he’s gained his just reward
And lives where angel choirs are heard
Somewhere out there beyond the moon,
And that his harp is out of tune,
While, all through his eternity,
Those tone-deaf angels sing off-key.


--Helen J. Ewoldsen -- 1-11-04