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Rows and Rows of us,

Shaking ourselves from crown to toe

As water droplets repaint the furniture.

 

Someone stands at the front,

Too many undone buttons to be sensible

And too little hair to be youthful.

 

Our minds are like a pockmarked planet,

As his words attempt to latch on.

Planet status: uninhabitable.

 

When do we start looking and stop learning

Or when do we stop looking and start learning.