The smell of freshly dried paint, New plastic, new rubber, and new stuff Fills the air. In the distance, faint A familiar silhouette, a little less scruff Waves a smile in my direction.
That direction has changed, it was A different door and teacher Last year. My pulse sings a chorus I don't comprehend, metered In fear and joy mixed together.
Together with teachers, parents console tears From older versions of me But younger, and scared of new peers Unaware this we've lived, but glee Now fills us to be here with them again.
The rhyme of “teacher” and “metered” is especially appealing. And the theme is just right for early September.
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Thanks Chris, really appreciate the feedback. It was totally unintentional….lol
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