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The iron gate was shut
to the headmasters hut.
But in the school grounds
where kids were out of bounds,
an old storage shed stood
that was built of wood.
In this wooden shed,
owned the department's head,
where lots of things were stored.
There was an old blackboard,
a bookcase,a chair,
amongst other things there.
With years of progress
the old shed was a mess,
but a bucket and mop
helped me clean it up.
I sat on a chair
and looked up in the air,
to tell you the truth,
cobwebs hung from the roof,
like threads of times past,
that clung on hard and fast.
All the dust that lay
kept gathering away.
I thought to myself
as I dusted the shelf,
how long has it been
since this old shed was clean.
The chair seemed to squeak,
as if it tried to speak.
This old teachers chair
had a character there.
A story to tell
had this chair there as well,
of all that had been
for a while on the scene.
Like the roll calls read.
The things teachers had said.
Reports that were wrote.
Many a parents note.
Givers and takers,
marking exam papers.
Fashions that had been.
The faraway daydream
in free periods.
The sad.The serious.
The good and bad times.
All the new product lines.
The story goes on.
Wars that had come and gone.
The coping with stress.
Abandoned to a mess
inside an old shed,
this old chair softly said.
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