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Monday in English class
1
A small bird shivers under a
trees lifeless limb,
touched by black December
weather.
I can see his struggle to
survive,
I can feel his passion to live.
This image of the outside world
seen through windows with bars
of steel,
makes me feel a prisoner
within this classroom here
And I sit there
surrounded by walls of stone
And I listen to,
A teacher's constant endless drone
of Yeats and Kavanagh
Tales of a Fishermans stony
grey home
And I wonder..?
Will I have to be gone
dead for fifty years.
Before one might say,
perhaps there was a poet here
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