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English Lesson.
Poems rolling in my head,
to many words.
Bored, bored, bored. I think
of nothing. But the out-side world.
Escape from this mandatory hell,
of English Lessons. Born
of nothing but the teachers hate. Of
us poor children, the sufferers.
Wistfully we watch the clock, waiting
for time to move. Slowly, slowly,
slowly on. And, at last,
the bell. Relief to our torchered
Souls. Freedom. After all these
hours. Home we head. In groups
of friends, we leave. Back to
our families and blissful homely havens.
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