The New School

April 17, 2011
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First I see
The bookshelf
Look up
at the thousand stories.
Tables shine,
The smell
A new beginning.

I face windows
A garden in the courtyard
Filled with September’s dying leaves
An old school dying away.

The school list has
A drawing notebook,
Curiously many books.
Excitement fills me
This new school molds
into my interests

But the other students
Sit down,
Talk with familiar faces,
My heart sinks
I could like the school
but would grow to hate
if no one else did and

I was alone.

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