The semi-bald manly figure
Always arrives ahead of school time
As runs a bullet from a trigger
The lessons he eyes, look a painted rhyme
Nearby a tiny village he resides
With the old, rusty bicycle he rode on
Missing a single class of his was suicide
A gem he proved to the realm he belonged
The pupils felt shy to find him close
A man full of insane energy
The wicked ones know his mighty blows
A foe he posed to human lethargy
Lament the classrooms his echoing voice
Ugly time stops his teaching
He read from Blake to James Joyce
Retired from his crazy job after a long dating....
