Old Poem, Age 8

I wish I could be like the leaves
And simply blow away,
For then I wouldn’t have to go
To school again today.

The teacher always yells at me,
And says I do things wrong —
I think I’ve got a complex, or
I will have, before long.

I wish it was still summer, so
We could go to the pool;
Instead we go to gym class,
Then our local lunchroom gruel.

The leaves go where they want, while I’m
In math, for heaven’s sake —
But I at least know how to count
The days

Til Christmas

Break

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