I love that small silver thimble full of time <br />before the start of the day. <br />A little quiet time to get the job done <br />before all the work starts getting in the way. <br /> <br />It is just me, backed by a little music <br />played on a vacuum cleaner - full drone – <br />by another someone, somewhere <br />as the snakes hiss in the boiler by the door. <br /> <br />The empty halls hang on to last night’s forgotten things. <br />A letter home rests on the bookcase, <br />a list of spellings lie unlearned on the carpet <br />and the chewed stub of a pencil clings desperately <br />to a cold window sill. <br /> <br />And in this classroom stands a steaming cup of dark coffee, <br />it’s scent climbing into an air <br />that is as silent and still as an abandoned drum, <br />and loaded with the tension of a starting pistol.<br /><br />Matthew Coombe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/early-bird-3/
