The days of slate and chalk,
Are not easy to erase,
They hold memories,
Of my childhood,....
In a fiction programming,
They're the fragrance of cute cursor hood,
In mise-en-scène mischiefs,
It's a decathlon athlete,
Every cutie-pie kid paricipates,
And their every action felicitates,
A junction of toddler's trip,
Waiting to board the train in picture of slate...