An Unorthodox Sonnet from a Tutor

In the heart of stories, where words hold sway,
I dwell, Miss Ellie—scribe, and tea-time queen.
My room? A haven, though in disarray,
Where tales pile high and biscuits go unseen.

For those whose confidence has fled the scene,
Who tread their quirks like tightropes, frayed and thin,
I wield my pen, a mender most serene,
And turn their woes to wins (or close to wins).

When tempests brew in adolescent skies,
We bottle angst and spin it into prose.
Each child, a puzzling truth in thin disguise—
A Rubik’s Cube of moods, and tangled woes.

Together, we explore these written lands,
With snacks in tow and ink-stained, sticky hands.