William Chaplar Poems
If the English language was indeed one without flaws,
inlaws—once the divorce was final—would become outlaws.
There'd be a whole new way for us to spell words such as sleigh.
And none would be confused when they looked at the word croquet.
Inflammable and flammable would sure not mean the same.
And words like claim would doubtless look a little more like fame.
Weight and height assuredly would not have different sounds.
And wounds would almost surely not be spelled the same as rounds.
There's no way that epitome would end the same as gnome.
And likely, neither one ...
Because We Can
I'm always hearing how our schools are facing dire straits;
this disturbing anomaly of low graduation rates.
What I can't help but wonder, though, as I think this thing through,
is what—if anything—there is that each of us can do.
Can any of us sit each day with some three-year-old child
and take about an hour or so to read to her a while?
Can any adult—man or woman—take paper and pen
and show a child who's pre-school-aged the way to count to ten?
And what about the chances that a ne