Thursday, March 26, 2015
The desk of a poet
The young girl was gone at the time, out being an official "role model" in another class, I think.
And I was not surprised it was her desk, because a few minutes earlier, as I was reading the poems posted on a bulletin board, she walked over and pointed out hers.
"I love them," I said. Here's one of them:
Somehow her desk made sense after this.
And she was not the only poet in the class. This next poem was written by a little girl who lost her father not long ago:
Kids never cease to amaze me. human in general amaze me, but kids pack so much meaning and energy and creativity and wonder into this human frame that it just blows my mind.
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