The Courtship

“Oh come on please, do take it. It can go a mile or more.”

He held it eagerly to her - a little coloured ball.

Just a scrap of a young boy, earnest and adoring,

curly dark brown auburn hair into his eyes all falling.

She stepped back, her hands behind her and shook her little head “No”.

She didn’t want his marble no matter how far it could go.

Her mother was surprised by the attitude of her child.

Why was she rude to this poor lad? She was usually so kind and mild.

She stepped through the doorway leaving the two outside the shop.

And who should be there waiting but their teacher, Miss Hislop

who smiled and gestured at the kids with a movement of her head.

“That lad’s got it bad for your daughter,” she smiling with humour said.

“He has spent most of this half school year attempting to win and lure

but she’s been a perfect lady, ignoring each overture.

Now I think he may have done his dash with that there fair damsel.

Listen up, you’ll understand. I have a story to tell.

He must’ve thought his luck had changed when I stated yesterday

that today we would be doing mimes and each child was to prepare a play.

So when it came to fun time, whose hand was first to be raised?

The sprog that’s chasing your offspring, of course, “I’ve got a good one,” he says.

He called all the boys to the front of the class and whispered long and low

then asked your girl to come forward, to be the star of the show.

He didn’t tell her anything. He placed her quietly in the corner

then kissed her quickly on the cheek and promptly ran through the door.

The other boys ran after him, and did the girls all laugh.

They guessed the mime – Georgie-Porgie, your daughter stood aghast.

By this time, I have to admit, I was bent with convulsions

while the poor girl just stood there, eyes as wide as onions

enduring the amusement of all the boys and girls

and even of the teacher. All because of this young churl.

It would be somewhat hard for a six year old to cope

with the teases of every classmate. Not one didn’t have a joke.

So whether it goes a mile or not, I’m sure you now understand.

Why she wants nought to do with that marble, and is being rather underhand

toward the boy.  He stole a kiss! (He’s lucky he lived to tell.)

And I’ll bet she’s thought up a child’s payback before the next school bell.”

But it seems she wasn’t thinking revenge or even about the laughs.

Her mother heard about it as they drove home in the car.

“I would have liked that marble,” she confided to her sister.

“But boys are awfully sweaty and he wasn’t a very good kisser.”