Her tests were long
and her riddles were cruel.
He smiled and he bore it
like a carefree fool.
But alone, he wept,
heart's river set free,
bursting out of its bounds --
mind tossed at sea.
She marked his work "F"
when it deserved a "B."
She bestowed an "A"
when it called for a "C."
She made no sense,
and he gave no sign
of love's fire burning
past reason or rhyme . . .
while she gamely walked
a very fine line,
love twisting 'round
her heart like a vine.
Into his eyes
she refused to look;
a declaration of love
his fear would not brook.
'Round and 'round each spun
the other, insane
with love incognito,
consuming flame.
Then, one fine day,
the spinning stopped:
Into his arms,
mad schoolmistress dropped.
He embraced her and asked,
"What 'grade' will this be?"
She replied, looking stern,
"An 'F' or a 'D.'"
With that, he knew
love had won the day --
and never again
did she give him an "A."
