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End of year poem round 3

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one-hundred or so sat in the theatre,

all wearing a dark blue cloak,

they listened to the speaker,

droning on……and on…..

 

rain ensued outside,

dark, dour, dreary clouds covered the sky.

rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat

each drop, a bad omen.

 

i was one of them,

one of the one-hundred.

listening was a marathon,

the words blurred into sentences,

and then into the whole speech.

yet it seemed to end so quickly.

Maybe that was the bad omen.

 

“And that marks the end of our graduation”

the voice of the host chirped.

(or at least I think it was that…..)

Then there was silence.

 

 

And suddenly, 8th grade was over.

With a speech I barely paid attention to.

 

 

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