The art of killing time

What I miss the most my dear, are the summer afternoons

We'd waste away in whisper wafted classrooms, waiting

For some murderous bell to ring and kill the daydreams,

While through the windows thrown wide open in surrender

The golden dying sunlight came seeping in thick streams

and catching in your auburn hair, set the world on fire.

I miss the sound of your chair, scraping against the floor

And the way you'd turn your head as I walked through the door

I miss the thinclad dancing doodles that you'd draw

With stolen coloured chalk, all over my blank worksheets

I miss your whirlwind whispers and your giggles and the heat

I miss the shine in your eyes and the red on your cheeks

But there goes the bell, like a guillotine, ringing;

There you go, pretty philistine, 'till again we meet.