Growing Up (Sonnet) Poem by Paul Hansford

'Write fourteen lines on Growing Up, a sonnet, '
the teacher told us, 'Don't forget the rhymes
must make a pattern; I've told you several times.
The subject's easy; you've all got ideas on it.'

Who does he think I am? Some second Milton?
Another Shakespeare? an Eliot? a Tennyson?
Compared to them, my mind's as dead as venison,
slightly less fresh than over-ripened Stilton.

'A poem's the equivalent in words
of something I once felt, ' the poet said.
Clues to another's feelings, like the sherds

of ancient pots, like jig-saws in the head.
A few curt words my feelings clearly tell,
one simple sentence - Growing up is hell.