I was only fourteen and
Was suffering in grade nine
A lonely frightened freshman
Seeking then to redefine

Myself into a man or maybe
A grown boy, at least;
In spite of my best efforts
I was much less man than beast

And it was in my English class
That Ms. Hornbuckle taught
That we began to read a book
I grew to like a lot

And by about, oh, halfway through
A lifelong love was set:
For I was reading Dickens
And I haven’t finished yet

The bloody revolution off in France
Where it took place;
It took my from my worries
Back through time, and at a pace

Breathtaking in its drama. And
When we approached the end
The pattern had emerged, and I
Began to read again

This wondrous book, so full of hate
And love, and so much more:
It was a far, far better book
Than I had read before

So I had found in Dickens
Much to reread and to savor –
And though no Sydney Carton
Might have been
Just a touch
Braver