One thing I'd not known would be part of my work
Is the mountain of correction that I'd rather shirk.
I spend many painstaking hours bending
over essays and answers - never ending.
Poring over writing so bad or so tiny
I end up with pain in my eyes and my spiny.
I tear my scant hair in agony to see
Mistakes aplenty, fearless and free.
My simmering rage fanned to fury,
I could hang those brats sans judge or jury.
Grammar mistakes and spelling errors,
Utter nonsense and other terrors
take away the best part of my life,
God! I can't take it - this wretched strife.
But the worst of all these terrible tortures
is when students continue to take language to slaughter.
For returning the marked work, I against hope hopen
they'll heed the correction, their eyes wide open.
But Alas! The saddest torture for a teacher
is that they persist in writing answers all fractured.
So release me, dear Lord, from these tiresome travails,
I'd prefer much rather to lie on sharp nails.
God, when will Thou deliver me from the miseries
of changing the blasted ei's into ie's?
[ This was inspired by Ogden Nash's poem, This Is Going To Hurt Just A little ]