Cars are like stars,
They travel all about.
When they go too fast,
You'll hear people shout:
"Slow down, you bum,
You dirty scum.
You'll hit me if you don't!
And if you do, I'll tell on you,
And don't you think I won't!"
That was written in a seventh grade social studies class, and was the cause of receiving after school detention for the first time in my student career. Ah, the price we must pay to become "great" poets. Suffering for the art is one thing, but suffering because of it, is quite another. Consider this: If I had done the same thing in my English class I might have received extra credit that day! Timing, Folks; it's all a matter of timing.
That was in 1959. If the timing isn't right now for writing/poetry, perhaps I ought to have studied plumbing!
