PoeticSociety

Mountains, mountains, and more mountains. I don't see how he can spend days looking at these rock piles. Let's see… How does it go? Mountain, mountain, trees, trees, mountain, trees, trees, trees, mountain… You see one forest, you've seen them all! I guess every once in a while it's not so bad, but when that's all he seems to want to look at, it gets so dull. All these French lessons and recites of boring old poetry just make me want to die. I feel so dreadfully isolated from the world. All my friends are probably wondering what happened to me. I mean, I went to camp and never came back. First a murder of a mother, and then the fat

'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