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The Poet

Poem from A Kid in My Class by Rachel Rooney

The light through the blind is a poem,

the way it illuminates air.

And the shadows that fall

on the floor and the wall

are signs that a poem is there.

 

The tick of the clock is a poem,

even the spaces between.

The echo of heels

and corridor squeals

are proof that a poem has been.

 

An empty white page is a poem,

a place where the magic occurs.

It's a home from a home

where ideas can roam.

At least for the poet, hers.