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A Poem

At this time of the year,
everything begins to gel.
We are a community
at long last.

Everyone is busy
reading or writing,
absorbed in their play/work.
Even...
is huddled in the corner
with a brand new copy of
The Wimpy Kid
or a newly stapled book
about some character of
the imagination.

There is a quiet hum,
the laptop,
the rustling of the pages
of a book,
pencils skimming
across a clean page,
the whispered voices of
children reading together,
my own voice conferring
with a student
who has just had a
revelation
and can't wait to get
back to her writing - alone.

I stand back.
There's nothing left to do.
I move on to converse
with another child.

It's a grand day.
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