Mrs Josephs class is a babbling brook of children's great ideas, of learning, listening, taking notes and the clamorous heaters noises. The kids however think otherwise, it's also at the end of the day, they're all talking or riled up, they can't vent it any other way. And on her cream colored classroom walls, are all the thoughts and projects, what a sight! It reminds me of the Milky Way, all the stars strung up at night, you look around you when your bored in a test, and get some bright ideas, but the ones that grab your attention are the ones by the dictionaries, because there aren't any.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem