Where teachers teach, and learners learn in turn
A pencil lifts, and crumpled pages churn
Faint marks despoil the sacred white of note
Where lightly on the page the pencil smote
Breaths held await the preacher to proceed
And eager, linger on his every deed.
Now, almost now- he speaks! A stunted cry!
All through the hall exudes a mighty sigh.
The raised heads bow, begin their dreary work
Though malediction in their writings lurk
The pencil strikes the paper yet again
And silent, scrapes its tragedies of pain.
Too late it is, those pages pale to mourn
Where teachers teach, and learners learn in turn.