Tuesday, June 15, 2010

A Product of Forced Tutoring

Downtown
Middle of winter, midnight
Voices still echo on the street
But none come and whisper
"Are you okay?"

Sitting
She stares out from her spot on the bench
Like a bird who is ready to fly
Yet the teacher left too soon
She, the forsaken

Hope
springs again with the reminder
All is not as it should be
but there is good left
a rescue at the break of dawn

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