The History Teacher Poem by Kelsea Osterman

The last of the group is a teacher.
A history teacher to be in fact.
And I know many hate the study of history,
But there are some who just love his classes.
He is young and loves to shout.
Calling you by nicknames if you have one.
He is a kind man to some.
And hard on the others.
His classes are required so you must see him
At least twice in your high school career.
He cares for his students and loves to have fun in his classes.
He is one of those teachers, who you don't make mad,
Of fear of being yelled at.
He tells his students he loves them at the end of his classes.
He says third hour is the best.
But we all know better to believe that.
He calls us all sausages.
He is kind and is willing to work with students.
His essays are fun and hard all at the same time.
He shouts at us to make them two hundred words,
And no less than two hundred.
He is a strange man,
Dresses as he wants and never really a care in the world.
He loves his job and the kids who seem to care.
This man is in search of the Milky Way.
Not the one we may see in the sky at night.
No the one that tastes like heaven.
With it's rich chocolate and its caramel delight.