Who ever thinks of Desks
in a classroom at night,
the moon shines brightly
thru long rectangular windows,
reflecting off the wood-grain,
Neat little coffins lined up
in neat little rows, waiting,
All waiting for the ressurection,
For the morning sunlight,
For the voices of the children.
paddy d daly
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/desks-3/
