Mister Smillie

I once had a teacher named Smillie, 
Yet smiley he was not,
He ruled the class with an iron fist,
Wielded the cane with a very strong wrist.

Now Smillie was from the land of Burns, 
‘Scootland’ he would attest,
Yet to him love was not a ‘red, red rose’, 
But a scared class of boys that always froze.

We were all supposed to be good at maths,
This was class 2A no less,
But Smillie always read the daily news,
Giving us the chance to dream and cruise.

‘Eah Doofty where’s your maths homework?’	
It was enough to make me choke,
And when I couldn’t recite that theorem, 
Even the class down the building could hear him.

The smartest in the class was Robert Smart,
Yes ‘Smart’, I do not lie,
And Smillie gave Smart his full attention,	
As he was the only one with good retention.

And so it came to the Judgement Day,
The end-of-term exams,
Now Smart excelled with ninety four,
And Dufty slightly less with twenty four.

So off I strode to the class next door,
Much to my parents’ chagrin,
But how I struggled to withhold my glee,
For I was in 2B and I was free!

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