The sounds across the corridor echo through the hall
And children crowding noisily are crushed against the wall.
The teacher roars and tears his way through children large and small.
The door flings open, off its hinge, he bounds into the room.
The action stops: the fighters didn’t expect him here so soon.
One’s on the floor, another stands above him with a broom.
“It wasn’t me, Sir, honestly, he made me do it so.”
“I don’t believe you, little runt, from school you’ll have to go.”
Upon the floor the other child smiled a grin as pure as snow.