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

Silence.