Life in the City
Chapter 11: The Room Speaks
The class is quiet.
The teacher writes on the board.
Chalk makes a white line.
I look around the room.
There is a big window.
The glass is clear.
Light comes inside.
There is a wooden door.
It is brown and strong.
The handle is silver.
The walls are white.
But here and there,
I see small marks.
Maybe from hands,
maybe from bags.
In the front,
there is a desk.
On it, books are high.
A clock hangs above.
The clock is round.
The hands move slow.
My chair is simple.
It is metal and wood.
It makes a sound when I move.
The table has lines from pens.
Some words are cut in the wood.
Beside me, a shelf stands.
On the shelf are old books.
The paper is yellow.
Some covers are broken.
I see the fan above.
It turns and turns.
The air moves,
soft but not strong.
Then my eyes go back to her.
She is also part of this room.
But to me,
she shines more than the window.
She is warmer than the sun.
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