The sincerest form of flattery (or extreme source of annoyance) is to copy something you admire. I have always loved the poem Indian Summer by William Campbell. We had to memorize it in grade five. Which I could not, I was an extremely introverted misfit and would go blank at just the thought of having to say anything to anyone. My fifth grade teacher was a mortifying copy of Ms. Finster (you know from Recess!) I blame some of my trauma on her. Actually I blame her for 89% of it. Here is Indian Summer and my rendition below it:
Along the line of smoky hills
- The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
- Throughout the autumn lands.
Now by the brook the maple leans,
- With all his glory spread;
And all the sumachs on the hills
- Have turned their green to red.
Now, by great marshes wrapt in mist,
- Or past some river’s mouth,
Throughout the long still autumn day
- Wild birds are flying south.
- “Kidsindahouse Summer”
- Within the walls of smoke-filled kitchen,
The offspring burn their toast.
And all morning I bury skull in pillow,
In sleep I am engrossed.
Now by afternoon the house is still standing,
Although a filthy mess;
And all my brats claim innocence
None of them confess.
Now its high time I got out of bed,
I really need some tea,
Throughout our abode the kids do scatter
‘Cause I’m petrifying to see.
My fifth grade teacher actually looked just like this.