Peom: Cross of love

editorial image

Many, many years ago,

Roll back the clouds of time,

When we heard the news,

We heard it sung in rhyme.

People could not read,

But rhymes could be remembered.

And If June didn’t fit,

They would sing December.

That’s how it was everywhere,

In castles and in hovels;

Till hooded monks taught us to write,

And now we’re writing novels.

It was parchment, not paper,

On which we used to write.

And if we got it wrong,

We had to pay the price.

Beaten black and blue

If we made a small mistake.

Parchment wasn’t cheap,

So the cane would often break.

Till came the Venerable Bede

With a new thought in his head.

Beside each sad mistake,

He just wrote a cross of red.

It was a cross of love,

When all was said and done.

The teachers at my school

Must have loved me, every one.

Mary Treveil,

Ardrossan Road,