PoeticSociety

'The wheels on the bus go round and round! Round and round, round and round! The wheels on the bus go round and round! All through the town!' The chorus of kindergarten children singing nursery rhymes filled the small environment of the classroom whilst being led by the teacher. She certainly was old; her black hair riddled with grey streaks was pulled into a tight bun and her eye-glasses hung loosely from a lanyard around her neck. She wore a crème-colored blouse matched with a chocolate colored skirt, nylons, and brown shoes. She was the typical old woman with the typical old voice and the typical gentle smile. Onward she led her f