In halls where echoes dance with disgrace,
Our new headmaster strides with a vacant face,
His voice, a thunder without a storm,
Calls out for unjust reform.
A tyrant cloaked in ignorance bold,
His laughter kills wise days of old.
Beneath the sheen of polished floors,
The heart of learning, he ignores,
He measures knowledge in charts and lines,
As if a child’s soul could fit his designs,
If only wisdom could reclaim the ground,
In this hollow echo, where all hope is drowned.
So us, real teachers, with hearts unrestrained,
Let’s rise to protect True Knowledge terrain,
For in the face of a storm so dire,
The flame of reason should never expire.
Lines about a new school headmaster
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125030308582
Свидетельство о публикации №125030308582
Рецензии