Sweet, young, Ms. Spero, with an eager look
Sat her class down on a carpet of blue,
“Today, my angels, at quarter of two,
You will construct your very own Dream Book.”
Sophie drew a gorgeous queen in her book,
Tom, the best doctor the world ever knew.
Ms. Spero prayed her kids’ dreams would come true,
And grinned as she tucked their works in a nook.
Now Sophie’s bones nearly tear her skin’s seams,
And Tom shoots needles up his ailing cells,
And some nights, poor Ms. Spero wakes and screams
When she sees the Dream Books that haunt her shelves.
For she couldn’t save us from our dreams,
And she couldn’t save us from ourselves.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 6:39 PM UTC
Sweet, young, Ms. Spero, with an eager look
Sat her class down on a carpet of blue,
“Today, my angels, at quarter of two,
You will construct your very own Dream Book.”
Sophie drew a gorgeous queen in her book,
Tom, the best doctor the world ever knew.
Ms. Spero prayed her kids’ dreams would come true,
And grinned as she tucked their works in a nook.
Now Sophie’s bones nearly tear her skin’s seams,
And Tom shoots needles up his ailing cells,
And some nights, poor Ms. Spero wakes and screams
When she sees the Dream Books that haunt her shelves.
For she couldn’t save us from our dreams,
And she couldn’t save us from ourselves.
