The Toad and Me
I sit before the toad-like squirt,
Holding her vicious quill.
I wish I could wipe off the smirk,
But I fight against my will.
On and on, I write the words,
I must not tell lies.
A growing rage swirls in me;
A fire burns in my eyes.
The toad looks at me with eyes so gleeful,
Sneering at my task.
I keep my gaze down, seemingly calm,
My face is an unreadable mask.
On and on, on and on,
I write, ignoring the pain.
I know I have to do this job,
My anger is in vain.
Blood drops down my wrist,
The parchment is stained.
If I have to keep this on,
'tis my pride that will be pained.
At the close of the hour, the toad looks up
And summons me to her desk.
I obey; I cringe for that,
I know it is a test.
My wounds give her pleasure, my latent anger glee;
She looks at my hand, and tells me to leave.
I obey again; I cringe for that,
But one day, I swear, I'll take revenge on that rat.