SONNET WROTE ON THE FLY-LEAF OF MY GRAMMAR DURIN’ SCHOOL HOURS

O Education! Maybe thou art all

Our teachers tell us, but just let me say

That if my folks wouldst let me have my way,

From early Spring till frost comes in the Fall

I'dst be outdoors, you bet! a-playin’ ball

Or otherwise enjoyin’ each fine day.

It seem'st a shame for boys to have to stay

Like culprits shut in by a prison wall!

I guess if you get rich folks wilt not care

If you don'tst know your grammar to a T,

For baby boys, you'llst find‘ most everywhere,

Art named for uncles who hast money, see?

Though they hain'tst got no learnin’ they canst spare

Nor never spell their‘ taters with a p.