from green fields and clovers,
with white spindles blowing,
smell of wind,
felt on my fingertips,
to life of strife,
where and when did this time end,
from third grade recess,
till senior-skip-out day,
the sky is still as blue,
and the birds tweets are
just becoming new
again,
so much pain and stress
when will it end?
if I'd only follow intructions
no telling where
I'd be.