The corridors will echo on the early Monday mornings,

Sounds bowling down the buffed and polished floors

Like single snooker balls, clacking and whispering,

Following you to the door you’ve come to love,

Your sanctuary, but today it’s cold and dark,

The chill, like fingers gripping at your flesh

As you fumble for the heating switch.

Let there be light

And sound, as the computer whirs to life

Blinking sleepily, remembering

It’s time to work, to plaster on that smile

Forget the weekend’s drinking and it’s arguments

And immerse yourself in teenage drama mixed

With Shakespeare and some poetry,

A warm and lovely bath of ancient words.