How I Managed Not To Be a Doc

HOW I MANAGED not TO BE A DOC You know something, Me a thing, I think not worth than a farthing was put in a college of Medicine. Paternal honour intact was to be kept. Heavy in heart and blurred in vision When thought of those bespectacled sermons On blood and urea, capillary and neuron. I tugged at my mom, a deaf ear she gave. Like a prep child, I crossed the day For the doom to impend on my lovely day On the calendar on the wall with landscapes gay. Oh! All because my father loved me so. On that day I stood on a rostrum Feverish, next to a corpse bloated and grey I was to say my name and greet the group. But all I could choke out was a meek gibber. I fell down with a thud,next to the corpse, funny,all came running to the body lifeless, for he was the specimen for one whole year. The thing I knew next, On my bed cozy I was And I think I heard my father say, Smiling, ‘Oh,It is all right my dear’!