Saturday, October 04, 2003

Poetry as distraction

Something else that's distracted me today, a poem by my goddaughter's brother (aged 11) ... quite magnificent for someone so young and showing a linguistic capability far beyond his years: A stranger called this morning Dressed all in black and grey Put every sound into a bag And carried them away The scratching of a pen The turning of the pages The dropping of the book The nagging of the teacher, as it takes ages The squeaking of the chair The drumming of the feet The shriek of the whistle The creaking of the seat The stranger came this morning He didn't leave his name Left us only silence Life will never be the same

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