FOUR O’ CLOCK FRIDAY

Four o’clock, Friday, I’m home at last
Time to forget the week that has passed.

On Monday, at break, they stole my ball
And threw it over the playground wall.

On Tuesday morning, I came in late,
But they were waiting behind the gate.

On Wednesday afternoon, in games,
They threw mud at me and called me names.

Yesterday, they laughed after the test
‘Cause my marks were lower than the rest.

Today, they trampled my books on the floor,
And I was kept in because I swore.

Four o' clock, Friday, at last I’m free,
For two whole days they can't get at me.

REMEMBER ME ?

I AM THE BOY WHO SOUGHT FRIENDSHIP;
THE BOY YOU TURNED AWAY.
I THE BOY WHO ASKED YOU
IF I TOO MIGHT PLAY.

I THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
WHEN YOUR PARTY WAS INSIDE,
I THE LONELY FIGURE
THAT WALKED AWAY AND CRIED.

I THE ONE WHO HUNG AROUND
A PUNCHBAG FOR YOUR GAMES.
SOMEONE YOU COULD KICK AND BEAT,
SOMEONE TO CALL NAMES.

BUT HOW STRANGE IS THE CHANGE
AFTER TIME HAS HURRIED BY,
FOUR YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE THEN
NOW I’M NOT SO QUICK TO CRY.

I’M BIGGER AND I’M STRONGER,
I’VE GROWN A FOOT IN HEIGHT,
SUDDENLY I’M POPULAR
AND YOU’RE LEFT OUT THE LIGHT.

I COULD, IF I WANTED,
BE SO UNKIND TO YOU.
I WOULD ONLY HAVE TO SAY
AND THE OTHER BOYS WOULD DO.

BUT THE MEMORY OF MY PAIN
HOLDS BACK THE REVENGE I’D PLANNED
AND INSTEAD, I FEEL MUCH STRONGER
BY OFFERING YOU MY HAND.

RAY MATHER