The School

She made her way, down the
desolate hall

She was late for school
But with it being winter an’ all

Stuck in a traffic jam,
upon the old
school bus

Her teacher would be angry
and would probably make a fuss

She arrived at the gate,
around ten past nine

Walking down
the empty corridor
her shoes, echoing in time

to the beat of her walk
as she hurried along

Panting, out of breath
Telling herself to stay strong

‘YOU, THERE GIRL!
YOU’RE LATE!
WHAT TIME DO YOU
CALL THIS!?’

’I’M SORRY, SIR!
IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN!’

But her voice echoed
in the mist
of the school breeze

That had suddenly come along
Engulfing pupil and teacher

Who had played out
the very same song

Everyday for years
within that desolate school

Two spirits joined together
And the teacher he still
RULED

Copyright
©2007
Wayne Leon Learmond
The School
All Rights Reserved

The School

Wayne Leon Learmond

Liverpool, United Kingdom

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

Schools are such eerie places…when empty.

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