The Fear of the Meek

The first day of my Freshmen year,

Towards the last hour of the day,

And I was filled with a great fear,

At what the blonde teacher would have to say.

She spoke so fast in a foreign tongue,

And ranted about the language’s delights,

For all this languages praises were sung

In a series of words that gave us a fright.

So we jumped into the class’s fray,

And began to study the language of the meek,

But soon, I learned, much to my dismay,

That I could speak French by the end of the week.