[Lisah] The Schoolboy

I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! What sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,
O! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.

Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour,
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning's bower,
Worn thro' with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring?

-William Blake

The School Boy – William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn,

The little ones spend the day,

In sighing and dismay.

Ah! Then at times I drooping sit,

And spend many an anxious hour.

Nor in my book can I take delight,

Nor sit in learning’s bower,

Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy,

Sit in a cage and sing.

How can a child when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring.

O! father and mother, if buds are nip’d,

And blossoms blown away,

And if the tender plants are strip’d,

Of their joy in the springing day,

By sorrow and cares dismay,

How shall the summer arise in joy

Or the summer fruits appear

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy

Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of winter appear.

[sharon]

Parents' Evening

We’re waiting in the corridor.
My dad, my mum and me.
They’re sitting there and talking;
I’m as nervous as can be.
I wonder what she’ll tell ‘em.
I’ll say I’ve got a pain!
I wish I’d got my spellings right.
I wish I had a brain.

We’re waiting in the corridor.
My husband, son and me.
My son just stands there smiling;
I’m smiling nervously.
I wonder what she’ll tell us.
I hope it’s not all bad.
He’s such a good boy, really;
But dozy – like his dad.

We’re waiting in the corridor.
My wife, my boy and me.
My wife’s as cool as a cucumber;
I’m nervous as can be.
I hate these parents’ evenings.
The waiting makes me sick.
I feel just like a kid again
Who’s gonna get the stick.

I’m waiting in the classroom.
It’s nearly time to start.
I wish there was a way to stop
The pounding in my heart.
The parents in the corridor
Are chatting cheerfully;
And now I’ve got to face them,
And I’m nervous as can be.

- Allan Ahlberg

[shuyan]