A LEFTHAND POEM

Days in school were very hard.
Ways to make him "right", they tried.
Wrong, is how teacher said he wrote.
Long hours they drilled on change.

Hide his talent, was all he did;
Bide his time 'till it was safe.
Older, he was able to be
Bolder in the way he wrote.

Brain controls his pencil hand,
Same as those who would change him.
Light came on! What is not used?
Right hand for him, right lobe for them.

Now he knows that he is "right".
How so at ease he has become.
Deftly, he now carries on,
Leftly writing his poetry.

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