The Impossible

By
Art class.
Once again we step outside.
The teacher points at
the giant oak tree
By the school.
Paint! She instructs.
I look up through the red leaves,
And I try to count them all.
But I cannot paint them,
Much less count them.
So I sit on the soft grass,
And enjoy the breeze
Blowing my hair off my face
And the leaves off of the tree.
I smell fall in the air
And winter still to come.
I watch the other confused students
Trying to paint.
Some teachers seek the impossible.





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