The Bear

 Here is a less than flattering poem I had written about a substitute teacher that I had only heard about but had never encountered until my junior year.  She reminded me of a school marm from the turn of the century - and I don't mean this century.  Subs have it hard because there is always at least one student who acts up and ruins it for the rest of the class.   Today's feature:

The Bear

If you painted her last name

You’d have a picture of a “Bear”

Or the ancient braud herself

The decrepit lady with blue hair   

 

We see the old grouch

Come back year after year

Why, this lady is so old

She went to school with Shakespeare

 

She was born to be a teacher

She knew that from the start

And after years of teaching

She bought a genuine handcart.   

 

She taught [near] little reservoirs

And on the Mississippi plain

One of her students was Samuel Clemens

Know to us a Mark Twain.

 

When she came to Jordon District

Not knowing how we’d feel

She traded in her ragged handcart

For a second-hand automobile

 

She never had a date

Nor did she ever kiss

Nor did she ever get proposed to

For her name is still “Miss”

 

But if we’re nice to her

She’ll be nice to us

But if we’re obnoxious

She’ll put up a fuss

 

Jordon School district had problems

Added on, we could tell

When the old lady came here

With a name that fit her well.