My Hero

Marcel Proust’s my hero,
Marcel Proust’s my man.
I’ll tell you why
Marcel’s my guy
And I’m his biggest fan.

Marcel was a writer
Who wrote his books in bed,
And no one fussed
Or said You must
Get up, Marcel.

His friends all came to see him
And brought him special cakes;
He’d take a bit
Then start to write
Forget his pains and aches

And murmur I remember . . .
The taste made him recall
A favourite game,
A flower’s name,
The colour of a ball,

Until it all came pouring out.
Marcel was a success,
But still he lay
In bed all day
And didn’t have to dress.

So that’s why he’s my hero —
There’s homework to be done.
I didn’t write
A word last night
And now the morning’s come.

I’d like to lie here all day long
And try those special cakes;
I’m sure Marcel
Could count and spell
And not make bad mistakes.

Oh to be a genius,
Never to look a fool,
But best to stay
In bed all day
And not be missed at school.

Copyright: from Back to Midnight (Puffin, 1994) first published in The Mad Parrot’s Countdown (Peterloo, 1990) © John Mole 1990, used by permission of the author

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Rhythm is at the heart of the ways in which John grabs us and brings us along as he tells stories about family, school, history and all ...

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