Poetry as distraction

Something else that’s distracted me today, a poem by my goddaughter’s brother (aged 11) … quite magnificent for someone so young and showing a linguistic capability far beyond his years:

A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away

The scratching of a pen
The turning of the pages
The dropping of the book
The nagging of the teacher, as it takes ages

The squeaking of the chair
The drumming of the feet
The shriek of the whistle
The creaking of the seat

The stranger came this morning
He didn’t leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same

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