Who is there that with disdain
Dismiss the power of the cane?
That swish against the naked skin
Dispelling vestiges of grin
Upon the face of Alison
The naughty little girl from Oxon
Who, bum throbbing, now regrets
The smart-arse comments that she lets
Slip from her lips to the dismay
Of people that get in her way
Across the back of Madam’s chair
She learns the cost of going there
Of being cheeky; poking fun.
Long-suffering neighbours every one
Now smile with glee, as cries they hear
From Ali’s pain reaching their ear
Through open window come her pleas
Of “Lesson learned” and: “No more please!”
But Madam smiles and carries on
To the despair of Alison.