A stamp of his feet &the mice start SCURRYING.
Even my heart itself starts its own RACING.
I bend my head over my book like I’m READING.
I dont want our eyes to meet while he’s STARING.
In his right hand, his whip he’s CARRYING.
Ready to strike across d desk of any caught SLEEPING.
I take a little PEEK,
in his eyes I SEEK,
the giant brain that makes him TICK,
that squeals wen I play a TRICK.
His shoulders broad and THICK,
with those biceps of which I’m love SICK.
Dont get a funny IDEA,
he’s not my crush or LOVER,
he’s my FATHER,
checking in at study HOUR.