On the corner of the bench;
A girl mute and her hands that clench,
With each sharp looks from the mentor.
Her smart friends, cool and candor.
She mixed fantasies with practicals;
Her lessons were tutors words and lectures,
Her hands slow and wit a bit low,
Her notes were blank and below.
Equations and theories were her enemies;
Sums would summon her to aliens,
She dreamed through word plays,
Her language teacher’s best plays.
At the end when she looks back;
No awards and no impressive track,
But she gained a bunch of friends,
And blessings from pious tutors.
Her lessons were imprinted goodness;
No trophies to display in showcase,
But with her name, friends attach,
Honesty and love too much.
Pebbles thrown are lakes bed intact and
Her waves sometimes low and sometimes high
but she is flowing and flowing and flowing…