It seems that everyone who can read also thinks she can write. Expressing something in just the right way, for me, helps me to understand it better. You may not find it deep or clever; read at your own risk. However bad it is, each piece is copyrighted to me.
The poem below is about one of the first classes I taught at Stetson, Calculus II, in the fall of 1992. The brave souls who toiled with me during that semester have been memorialized in this poem. I remember them all fondly.
| The Sorrowful Tale of Professor Hale
'Twas the night before finals and all through the HALL the students were grumbling and plotting her fall. "We'll set up a court, we'll try her real well, then throw her in jail, ten teachers PUR CELL." So the CLARK read the charges: "The tests are too long; the homework's a DOWNER; some answers are wrong." The professor responded, "I'll go free in a jiff. You're all just smart ALEX." Then she left in a TIFF. The class did not falter, they wrote to Dear ABBY. Their complaints were detailed, and their tone a bit crabby. When Abby wrote back, her reply was not masked: "The Wizard of OZ couldn't do what she asked." The students were careful to show all their evidence. They all exclaimed, "KATJA!" as the judge pronounced sentence. So now she's confined in the Jail of Professors with others like her to be her confessors. She protests loud and often, "It's a TRAVISty, you know. At the HELM of the jury were LARRY, Curly, and Moe." "W'EN'D'Y think you'll get out?" they ask her politely. "I'll have ROTTA'd by then to a state quite unsightly." And what of her students, those victorious fanatics? They're all flipping burgers for lack of mathematics. © 1992 m. hale |
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