As torment roused the dormitory we fell on him,
His crime, obesity, was hardly mild,
Stripped bed, cold water, shoves and jeers brought hell on him,
His infant cries provoking passions wild.

The ogreish beams like gallows overhead,
Conspiring with many a rugged board,
A homely rug lay helpless on each bed,
And towering curtains privacy ensured

For one's hell and many a taunting cry,
And when this rough mass-meal was stopped, half-eaten,
Privacy too for one whose scouring eye
Was showing us the summons to be beaten.

Now twenty years have shoved us hard
Since we revelled in his weakness,
Has our torment turned to meekness?
Have our passions left him scarred?

The one who beat us then is beaten worse,
He closed the school, but overlooked the cost,
For years of former pupils jeer and curse
The man, who now the upper hand has lost.

As hands are raised to mock the present victim,
His lost charisma branded on his name,
Pathetically he tackles those who've kicked him,
Then turns and limps, dejected, from the game.

They rallied to the beams but now they clutch them,
As infants clinging to an ogreish womb,
And will the beams forever bless and touch them?
Dust is their shroud and bleak building their tomb.