Array ( [sid] => 140736 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Noble [time] => 2008-03-03 01:05:56 [hometext] => First submission in a while. Comments heavily appreciated! [bodytext] => To those born of great privilege, that they be mindful of mortality.

Four years of private tutors
To learn to read and spell,
His father paid a mighty bill
That his son might be taught well.

Eight years of English boarding school
A kingly sum for every term,
But the teachers were the finest
And the discipline was firm.

Four years at Academy,
A small fortune for each class
Bought him a noble uniform
With gold epaulets and brass.

Now it’s all a horrid irony
As the casket bears him hence;
A peasant soldier shot him
With a ball worth just a pence
[comments] => 5 [counter] => 454 [topic] => 46 [informant] => scott [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 13 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => didactic ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The Noble


The Noble
Date: Monday, 3rd March 2008 @ 01:05:56 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: scott
To those born of great privilege, that they be mindful of mortality.

Four years of private tutors
To learn to read and spell,
His father paid a mighty bill
That his son might be taught well.

Eight years of English boarding school
A kingly sum for every term,
But the teachers were the finest
And the discipline was firm.

Four years at Academy,
A small fortune for each class
Bought him a noble uniform
With gold epaulets and brass.

Now it’s all a horrid irony
As the casket bears him hence;
A peasant soldier shot him
With a ball worth just a pence


This poem is Copyright © scott


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