In which I embarrass myself yet againor...1981

In the spirit of goodwill and embarrassing one’s self deeply in the name of having something to post, I now present to you a book report from the sixth grade. We had several choices of how to write it and one of them was as a poem. As of 6 or so years ago I was still the only student who had ever chosen the poem option (and I use the term “poem” very, very loosely). You may mock my rhyme scheme if you want, as it barely exists anyway but I must note that I received an “Excellent A+ A truly super job!” on this particular paper.

I now present The Secret Garden: A book report in poetry by my 12 year old self (with spelling errors intact).

Little Mary quite contrary
Woke up one morning all alone
No servants or parents were in the India home
Then a young man he opened up the door
“Barny, “ he said “there’s a kid on the floor”

“Mistress Mary Quite Contrary”
Little Basil did chant
For poor young Mary was
Now living with a distant aunt

Little Mary dressed in black
Was soon met at the railway track
By one of her guardians maids
I daresay she was taken aback

But on the moor thin Mary
Soon began to thrive
And became as busy
As a bee in a hive

Soon Mary became friends with the
Gardners robin
She talked to him as he sat
Swayin and a bobbin’

One day while she was talking to
The robin
She found in a hole a key
The robin sat upon a wall
A swayin’ and a bobbin
And above the wall Mary saw
Some trees

And that is how Miss Mary
Chanced upon the garden
And she said to her uncle
“I beg your pardom but might
I have a bit of earth if nobody
Really wants it?
Her uncle he replied
“Take a yard or a bit if
nobody wants it”

Mary worked in the garden
Nobody had been in
For 1 decade it was empty
Little Mary she worked plenty

A young maids helped her get
A set of tools and seeds
And together they worked hard
They killed all the weeds

The garden was her uncles wifes
A pretty maid was she
She had died quite suddenly
From the falling branch of an old tree

One might mistress Mary heard a cry
She couldn’t find where it came from
No matter how she would try

One windy eve Miss Mary
Could not sleep
She heard the cry and
Took a little peep

What she found was her cousin
Who had been very sick
He could not walk only
Talk but he was worth a dozen

Marys cousin Colin
A big boy was he
But threw himself into
Furies always bawling

Colin got stronger
And in the very end
Mary taught him how to walk
And became a very good friend


As I said, not much on rhyme scheme there and I must have already heard that punctuaion was totally optional in a poem. I particularly like how I adopted some “old timey” language because that how you write a poem.

Mind you, I do not have to humiliate myself this way. I do it because I care.
Thank you and good night.