Some with their brows knitted in concentration,
Some fighting will-power to obstruct impending day-dreams,
Some indirect glancing; illusions of future love,
Some awake and alive, minds wandering on solar gleams;
A purpose for some; an enjoyment for others;
Who try to find what they are here for,
Some, like me, observing the others, who
Trying to prevent the professor from being dour,
He whose only visible features are eyes and hair,
Tries to reply and not pull his locks off;
A tug-of-war ensues, and the professor emerges victorious;
And more go to sleep; while some others scoff.
A pleasant sight of inspiration for the poet,
As one day, none of them will be here,
And sleepers would miss their pleasant sleep,
And the professor will let his locks be sheared.
But the poem will bring back lost accounts,
Memories will be debited, and happiness be credited,
For the poem takes you back in space and time;
And the poet will be praised for the lost world recreated.
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