Oh, woe to the whelps in the schools of decay, where thinking is frowned on and facts fade away,
Where maths is a mystery, science a joke, and grammar lies gasping beneath Twitter smoke.
No Shakespeare, no Byron, no Wilde in their quips, just memes and emojis on half-bitten lips,
And should you dare challenge, should questions arise, they’ll cancel your grades and declare you unwise.
They say it’s an error, a slip in the plan, but ruin this perfect takes more than one hand.
A mind without language is chained to the floor, its wit left unsharpened, its wisdom ignored.
No riposte, no jest, no remark with finesse, just blunt, blaring slogans with meaning still less.
For why teach the youth to debate or to spar, when silence and sheep make the rulers go far?
So now they speak symbols and gibbering signs, as speech turns to grunts and great wit undermines.
The rapier’s lost, the gladius dulled, no thrust, no parry, just minds left annulled.
A bon mot is useless when none understand, when irony’s met with confusion so bland,
When jesters must flatter and poets must kneel, ah, what a fine fate for a people once real!
Yet picture the teacher who tries to explain, the subtle distinctions of pleasure and pain.
How sarcasm cuts with the blade of the mind, how verses once soared, and sharp words intertwined.
But poor soul is stuttering, lost in defeat, for how can they teach when they barely can read?
And thus we regress, with each lesson forgot, till hieroglyphs rule, and the past is for naught.
(By John Shenton)