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A Small Boy’s Plight

From The Birmingham Age Herald, September 4, 1913.

The call to school makes Willie sad,
He thinks about the fun he’s had,
Those leafy coverts cool and dim,
The stream in which he used to swim,
The country lanes that lured his feet
When idle days made life so sweet.
And then a shadow glooms his face.
No more he’ll leap and run and race
As free as any bird of air,
His heart a stranger to all care.
Now readin’, writin’, ‘rithmetic
Must be his lot, his teacher’s quick
And roving eye his nemesis—
Could any fate be worse than this?

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