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The New School
First I see
The bookshelf
Look up
at the thousand stories.
Tables shine,
Sterilized
The smell
Fresh
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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I made a change in the poem. At first it’s happy because I’m making a beginning. Then I have a change in the mood and I show the dark side. In the end I purposely break away the last line.