The room is as close to silent as it gets
Voices are whispering softly, then falling silent
Pencils and pens scratch across paper
The sounds of erasers follow
Pages flip and crinkle loudly.
Pages turn and then lay flat.
Doors squeak and screech on unoiled hinges
Chairs scrape against the floor
Humming radiates from the air vent
Chests breathe in and out
They characterize a classroom in spring.
Then the clock hits a quarter to three
And voices rise in volume.
The voice corrects the papers
And their pens scratch out a score.
Then the clock strikes three
A bell peals it toll.
Thirty chairs scrape back at once
And thirty chairs hit the top of the desks.
Voices rise as plans are made
The door opens and they stream out.
Then the classroom returns to pure