At ten past eight on each school day -
And not on Saturday I’ll say -
The bus to school would come in sight
And often I was in a plight -
For my Mum used to plait my hair
And, though she took the utmost care,
I knew that without any fuss
That I must dash to catch that bus.
I knew that free from Mum and comb
I then could flee my family home.
I’d sprint with speed to the bus stop
And on this vehicle I’d hop.
I’m sure the driver watched for me
For surely every day he’d see
Me quickly dash with arm outstretched,
With speed of feet and muscles stretched.
He also knew, if I were late,
That at the other end would wait
A punishment so very cruel
For children who came late to school.
The teacher’s ruler would come out
And it was cowardly to shout
When on my knuckles it cracked down -
The teacher wearing a cross frown.
Train for Olympics? No, no need -
My daily run improved my speed.
And now, aged 70 plus, - - - - ah me -
At ten past eight I sip my tea.
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