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Private School

When only six you were sent away,
To a boarding school for years to stay.
Born to parents who would rather pay,
Than look after their child in a loving way.

On joining school you were so glum,
All you needed was a hug from Mum.
With a heavy heart, each night you'd weep,
Into bed you'd fall in a tearful heap.

Your room mates all, were upper crust,
Gave you stick which was unjust.
They'd tease you often of the way you spoke,
Or in the stream you were thrown, just for a joke.

Shy by nature, you were very withdrawn,
Often you would sit, alone on the lawn.
Or walking along the banks of the stream,
You'd be far away, lost in a dream.

Once a year, back home you were sent,
Where your hatred for school, to your parents you'd vent.
But on deaf ears, of your misery you sobbed,
Your childhood years were being painfully robbed.

You hated your studies and didn't like sports,
Your tutors disintetrested, you received bad reports.
At six every morning through wind or chill,
The disciplined routine of P.T. and drill.

For ten long years you lived in despair,
All you lived for was to end your nightmare.
Although quite successful in your chosen profession,
You now attend clinics for mental depression.

Written & (c) John McKay Withey 1992

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Comments (2)
    • Gosh... such tough topics and yet you seem all knowing. Very nicly written. I see you've been writing for many years now, it is a pleasure to read your writings, thank you for sharing.
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      • Thanks again che57vy, This was based on a fellow workmate who suffered bouts of depression. When he talked about this time in his life I wondered if this was the reason. He died very young leaving a young family. John
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