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I walk to class across the green,
holding my books
and in good form.
A brisk cool wind
reminds my soul
that winter
is next on call.
I studied hard for this term quiz,
to make the grade
on next year's entrance exam.
Then two more years
of fine tuned canons
and life begins
in some law firm.
Just enough thoughts:
let's review
some ancient lost chapters,
recount a slanted system,
or true.
The time,
it never lasts
on morning calls.
A short cut
through the grass,
leaves struggle
to clear my path.
All told,
I'm set to face this test
that's handed
from the maker's own hand.
Begin,
page turned,
pencil poised,
leg raised,
crossed over the other,
and there it is,
the answer . . .
a fallen leaf,
stuck into my shoelace,
. . . it's fall. |
