It was an old, old, old, old lady,
And a boy that was half-past three;
And the way that they played together
Was beautiful to see.
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Although I can no longer recite all of this poem by memory, I shall never forget it's impact on my life. You see I am 63 yrs old now, but as a student of the segregated south of the 60's, I recited this poem at numerous fine arts festivals held among the colored schools in the northwestern section of my state. I received excellent and superior ratings each time I recited it. Yet at the end of the school year fine arts program at my own elementary school, I was a fifth grader, as I got on stage to recite it for my local school audience, my baby sister hollered out my name and I completely forgot it! Boy did I have egg on my face, imaginary eggs that my classmates threw at me. But that's all okay now. I had great teachers who taught me to enunicate clearly and distinctly and use the King's English to my advantage when it really counted.
Will never forget this poem