MEMORIES DOWN THE LANE.

Staring at the blank blackboard of his classroom, 

Memories ran down his brain in a bloom. 

The chair, the desk, the blank space of the room, 

Maybe the memories needed to be dusted down by a broom. 

The noises which would be buzzing everywhere around the school, 

Why has it been silenced now, it could use a spool. 

The corridors, the hallways looks like a macabre, 

Reminding him of his sweet punishment by Mr. Dobre. 

Who knew growing up wouldn't be much fun as he thought to be, 

Wishing if there was any possibility to flee. 

Everything was taught and everything was learned, 

Except for the time-machine to be built in return.