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The French Teacher

Poetry By: attanasio
Poetry


Sometimes a teacher makes a difference


Submitted:Sep 27, 2012    Reads: 83    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   


The teacher

Thirteen years old and shy

I was just an average guy

High school had just begun

Summer gone, end of fun

More math and history

Get ready for the misery

Homeroom starts the day

After that it would all be grey

Boring teachers would ensue

Dosing before the day was through

I wish I didn't have to go

And waste my time with this show

Third period was French class

I couldn't wait for it to pass

Miss Barrows was sitting there

Behind her desk, in her chair

She held a book close to her face

I looked around and found a place

She closed the book and stood

My god! She looked good

She was statuesque and built

I stared with feelings of guilt

At the thoughts that I was thinking

My eyelids were not even blinking

"Bonjour class," she said

Thoughts of us, were in my head

"Parlez vous Francais?" was next

She looked at me, my body flexed

I liked to hear her talk

I loved to watch her walk

The time went by fast

Everyone left and I was last

As I approached the door

She walked across the floor

"Monsieur, you left your book

I turned to take a look

She handed it to me

A big smile I could see

I took the book and all the while

I could not help but smile

School was not a chore that year

The reason why was very clear

Third period was why

I was such a happy guy





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