"Symbol" by R. L. Pikett (1957)

Google probably wouldn't find this poem classifiable as 'Spring', but I know it is because I wrote it.

The English teacher,   Ike Stamper,  had asked us for homework to write a short story around two contrasting symbols.     I didn't like short stories much,  and as a child born in WW2 and growing up in post-war Britain I hated the way public life was driven by jingoistic symbols.  This poem was the rebellious result.  I then had to wait a week for the work to be returned,  and expecting to be damned for my impertinence.  

That fear deepened when I saw he had given me no mark for the work,   and eventually I simply had to ask.   He said he hadn't given a mark because he felt that 10/10 wouldn't be enough,  and then read it out to the class.   

He later entered it in the Poetry Society's local competition,  without my knowledge,  and it won.   I think that was the first time I'd ever won anything.