Mr. McCaster, the mean, old Schoolmaster

This little old man so lifeless and lost
with wrinkles on wrinkles 
etched and embossed
From dusk until dawn he sits slouched in a chair
fidgeting and fiddling betwixt his far away stare

Gone is the grammar he taught in his school with his headmastership stiffness of not acting a fool
A no nonsense lesson of life was his teaching as he commanded his classroom with such a practise of preaching

But the wisdom of his words have been stolen away and a stuttering silence is all he can say
Too many strokes has baffled his brain and left him befuddled and sadly insane
Who would have thought that this mighty man so tall would have wilted and withered, alas shrivelled and small

He has no recollection nor memories of his life 
Was he married with children ?
Did he have a good wife?
But none of this matters as he passes his time lost in a laguish from reason nor rhyme

Mr, McCaster, the mean old schoolmaster
when one sat in his classroom one would want time to go faster
Yet he was a good teacher, just a man of his generation 
An acumen of accomplishment 
and a genius in conversation