The Lecture Hall

Tall trees doth frame the hefty hall,
and dim sunlight creeps through the walls;
the steps do climb upon the hill,
where faceless nymphs sit cold and still;
no breeze can touch this sacred place;
no rain can fall upon my face;
a booming voice doth shake the leaves;
his words through silent air it cleaves;
on empty ears the voice preaches,
deathly to the farthest reaches,
as winter frost settles around,
and flowers bury in the ground;
voices fade into the bright snow,
but still the words doth shine aglow,
and my mind it yearns for the love
of literature’s swaddling dove;
so as the winter melts away,
and through the trees the light of day
brings back to life this old playhouse,
and the chandelier lights do rouse
the children from their schoolyard dreams
to walk away from this scene.


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