Spoiler
Ok, so my poem is a parody of Lord George Gordon Byron's poem, the Destruction of Senacherib. (I hope I spelled that right.) We had to memorize it for school so of course I had to go rewrite it as the Destruction of OCS (the initials of my school.) Here's the original:
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Now mine:
The airplane came down like a bomb on the wind,
And it's wings were all gleaming from beginning to end;
And the gleam of its gun was like beams of a jeep
When the bright lights awaken those who were asleep.
Like a storm in the nighttime when hail falls like rain,
The sound of the bullets drove students insane:
Like the storm in the nighttime when lightning bolts scream,
The death in the schoolyard ran out like a stream.
For the eagle of metal soared down to the last,
And into the wall of the office it crashed:
And the screams of the children rang out loud and clear,
And those who were living were silenced by fear!
And there lay the textbooks with pages all torn,
But for these poor victims not one soul did mourn:
And their pages were scattered all over the road,
And each kid rejoiced in their now lessened load.
And there sat computers all broken and crushed,
With the beaping of buttons at once still and hushed;
And the rooms were all empty, the curtains torn down,
The lockers abandoned, the boards smeared with brown.
And the parents of students are filled with despair,
And the only thing left is a single blue chair;
And the tortured old school, that had lasted for years,
Hath been washed away by the guardians' tears!
which is good.