Maths

A poem on my partcular view of maths lessons

Poor old Sir the Maths teacher his hair all grey with age
Not that he has much anyway, scars from when he last taught this keystage
Poor old Sir the Maths teacher cannot wake the class from sleep
Not that they would stand a chance his voice so droney and deep
Poor old Sir the Maths teacher although he tries his best
He still can't quite figure out why his pupil's brain exploded over the desk