The window of the classroom blinds-
The morning sun shined through.
The little ones at school to play,
Each eager for the day

All questions stopped when once he walked
To scatter dreams of pure-
With violent bullets; he made red
The white boards and the floors

Through gutted valleys he did stride
Of children slain for none
His boots crushed lunches and he paused---
On innards low his foot

And of the fame he wished to find
The media inclined---
To tell a tale of what guns do,
Without the kids in mind

They each had dreams of perfect things ---
And all respect is due
To little minds cut off from time
To which they had such few