In the halls of L Grammar,
Where knowledge and wisdom should bloom,
There stood a figure of intimidation,
A presence that cast a shadow of gloom.

Mr. F, the English teacher,
His words, a weapon sharp and cold,
A teacher whose authority ruled,
But left us feeling small and controlled.

With every lesson, fear did linger,
A tense atmosphere filled the air,
His voice, a booming thunderstorm,
A reminder of the power he’d bear.

He demanded excellence, unyielding,
With little patience for our plight,
His methods harsh, his standards high,
Turning our days into endless night.

Yet, in those moments of resilience,
We found strength to endure and cope,
For even in the face of adversity,
We held on to dreams and hope.

Mr. F, a paradox of power,
His influence, a lasting mark,
In the classroom's shadows and beyond,
We learned to find our own spark.