I’d love to be a boxer,
Met a stern disapproval from my father,
who thought my age would make me lighter,
and my height would make me a bad fighter.
I took my case again to my mother,
hoping to get a supportive answer
but her response was a big loud laughter,
she said it would be a big blunder,
pleaded with me to be a teacher.
I sneakily opted to be a poetry writer,
got scared away by rhymes and meter.
Per chance, I become a teacher,
compelling me to study harder,
my students never to turn me to a teaser.
With colored chalks all over my knickers,
I sometimes look like a messy painter.
Daily I joggle around with toddlers,
to impress my boss for a pay raise voucher
which has to wait till December.
I think this nonsense write needs a wedge or a stopper,
lest I weary the readers.