Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Going into 11th grade and in a typing class
I was doing my best, so very anxious to succeed.
I thought that typing would be such a task,
And for me it was something surely to please.

Then the teacher came and hung over my desk
Why, oh why; to see how I’m doing she says.
But then I couldn’t seem to type my very best,
My nerves a shatter, blow after blow she'd raise.

Faster, go faster and not so many mistakes,
And I was trying so very hard to please,
With the teacher at my back; so many takes,
And I was ready to buckle at the knees.

My report card came in with a failing grade,
For typing didn’t seem to be my forte.
I thought typing was a bad choice I had made
And I was ready to give it all away.

Another month came by and the teacher went on,
I had gained from all the push and the pressure.
A perfect grade I received; errors were not the norm,
And my typing speed improved a great measure.

After many years out in a job I once feared
At 90 wpm now a real typing whiz I am told.
I wish I could thank that teacher who cared
Who gave me the push to grow and be bold

© Copyright 1997 by Jean E. Gorney