When the Poetry Fades Away
Dull becomes the page, when there's nothing left to say
When the classroom is empty and the projector, blank
Their halls echoing of silence these voices now gone ?
Autumn's past hope's inspiration dead as, Winter dawns....
Gathering his pens a felt unto the chalkboard's place one final
Mark amid her farewell to impart but a happy trace ~
As turning out their lights closing this door; upon time's
Crossing a vacant lot: leaving, your world all it's colours, behind....
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....“When The Poetry Fades Away” ~
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