#WritcoPoemPrompt49 @AtulPurohit
The days of slate and chalk,
Are not easy to erase,
They hold memories,
Of my childhood,

In doors of present they knock,
Then fetch me back, to my past place,
Its pining mines those reveries,
too chasmic, in my heartwood.

I crave to be called by cuckoo clock,
to bath in morn’s frost dew sprays,
then bask sun in the assembly jeffreys,
And bolt to the class like a dachshund.

Where five in a bench we fit and squawk,
In mentors blackboard we found place,
Ruler knew less, our miseries,
As teacher swung that hardwood.

Wish to sit again and stalk,
Daydream lovers first...