Causes of the Revolution: A Poem

Last night when we arrived home from a weekend of camping, Connor and I had now idea that we would be up till 3 in the morning studying American history-- and liking it.

But that's what we did. Camping was a thrilling, though somewhat face-chapping affair, what with the wind and all. I'm glad I went, but after hiking 9 miles in two days I was happy to see home and my bed. The trip home took longer than usual because we had to make an extra stop at Walmart in DeQueen to find some brie. I had a sudden revelation on the trail between the Shady Lake dam and our campsite that I desperately needed to eat some brie. It sounded good to Connor, too, and Rebekah, who rode home with us. So we bought it and traveled on our merry way.

Bekah's parents were still at life group when we got home at 8:30, so we stood around in the kitchen eating brie and crackers and hummus and drinking earl grey to warm up. The house was freezing inside, and the cat was tearing around like some kind of dervish. I take it she was happy to see humans, but I think she was upset that we weren't the particular human she wanted-- Mattie Kate.

After collectively consuming six ounces of brie (my instincts were right. It was just the ticket) we drove Rebekah home to be reunited with her waiting family, who were overflowing with anticipation. Except Sarah, who is still at Shady Lake with the others.

Connor and I were tired out, not to mention grimy and greasy from camping. So we weren't exactly pumped about breaking out the textbook. I'd had the chance to at least make notes on the material beforehand, though, so we stood in the kitchen (it's the best room in the house-- everything exciting happens there) and shot questions at each other.

It got a little out of hand. The answers started rhyming. And then we were ad libbing, and before you could say "Boston Massacre," I was bending over the blank sheets of Mom's grocery pad, scribbling couplets of doggerel foolery and madly twisting my greasy hair while Connor spouted out more rhymes and slapped his thigh with the hilarity of it all. It helps that it was 1:00 in the morning and many ordinary things become hilarious at that time of day.

I thought I'd share the results of our efforts with the rest of the world, with an apology to any Brits and a disclaimer that it's hard to tell the truth when it has to rhyme, so we fudged a little on that. Poor King George got it hard, but then, you have to find someone to blame. Back then there were no presidents.

Causes of the Revolution

The Causes of the Revolution
Were not Helen of Troy, or air pollution
They were political factors, economic strifes,
Social troubles, (the stuff of life)
An unwillingness to compromise—
If you think it’s otherwise
Go ask Sam Adams, he’s the fellow
Who fanned the flame with his rhetorical bellows.

After Pontiac’s rebellion (trust me dears, he was a hellion)
King George issued the Royal Proclamation,
“I will squelch this budding nation!
No more moving farther west!
I’m the king, and I know best!”

With the fall of Salutary Neglect,
King George sat and did reflect
This was no little piece of cake
The health of his empire was at stake
The Sons of Liberty were about,
Committees of Correspondence were on the scout
Patrick Henry had assumed his stump
And Ole’ Sam Adams had put a goad in their rumps

After one too many mugs of beer
Those Liberty Boys weren’t thinkin’ too clear
They threw some snowballs at a guard
Gee, I guess some were a little hard
British regulars came out to spar
And some bloody idiot shouted, “Fahr!”
There was a massacre on the premises—
At least that’s what Paul reminisced

After that the Townshend Acts
Were declared to impose a tax
On glass and paper, tea and paint
(“What do I look like,”
Said King George, “a saint?”)

The colonists were up in arms
They donned some feathers and left their farms
They had a party on the sea
And ruined all King George’s tea.

King George declared the Coercive Acts
“Boston port closed till my tea is paid back!
Privileges limited, legislatures suspended,
By Goerge, we’ll have this government upended!”
So the colonists made a fuss
“We’ll have no more of your laws on us!”
They’d rather have been stabbed and died,
So this is how those boys replied,
With the Continental Congress of ‘74
(The British knew not what was in store)
Suffolk Resolves declared Acts impolite,
They drafted a Declaration of Grievances and Rights
They organized a boycott against British trade,
Then sent the militias off to raid

The Midnight Rider, Paul Revere,
Rode away (he is not here)
He rode with buddy William Dawes,
Who did not follow British laws
The minutemen were good old boys
Their guns were not just childrens’ toys
Their shots were heard around the world
And then Old Glory was unfurled!

By: Cassie and Connor Walters

This morning, we presented the poem to Mrs. Szafran, and she got a laugh. And all the way through the quiz we smirked with glee as little couplets ran through our heads, igniting our craniums for victory.