When I, bedward, to prepare for a new day
I still get an awful feeling, here, inside
generated by a time that's gone away
but so strongly instilled that that still resides.
'' Thou. Shalt. Not. Be. Late! '' struck terror in my heart
each word thrashed out with his cane upon a desk
each bang each word made everyone of us start
at this foulness of that teacher, so grotesque.
Awake, hour after hour, in my bed, I did
as a kid, lying there, delirious with fear,
all those years passing and me, still not rid
of that cane, smacking down upon my rear.
If only I had known of Uhtceare
and shouted it out as he administered his pain
and '' you're nowt but a rotten Snollygoster! ''
'' your Trumpery phrase has Zwodder'd me, again! ''
Written by Insiderew
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