Today I have a poem to share with you. Check out the video below.

[youtube id=DYpBMHSKarg]

What about your experience of school? Scroll down and share a thought below.

Here’s the text of that poem again.

Prayer for Children Going to School

I saw them waiting in line,
	four children,
	early in the morning,
	backpacks ready and full.
I saw the yellow bus take them away.
And I rode with them in thought to the place they were going:
	the double doors to darkness and to doubt,
	the waiting in lines,
	the permission slips, the hall monitors,
	the subjects to learn and be tested on.
And, of course, the bells.
Regular, like in a monastery, yet so unlike,
	and faster, so much faster,
signifying, over and over:
	stop what you're doing.
	Your time, your will, your body, your soul, count for nothing.
	Can't you see the next machine is waiting for you?
Their sighs rise up regularly
	 with every ringing of the bell.

And I know,
they police themselves ruthlessly, 
	hating any part that exposes them to ridicule.
And these parts, too, rise up regularly,
	a constant stream of despised selves,
	unwhite selves, stuttering selves,
	fat, skinny, ugly selves,
	picked-last-for-kickball selves,
	boyish selves, sissy selves,
	mockable, different, hateful selves,
	all, all, are cast off and rise up to heaven.

I do not believe, O Lord, that you made children
	for this purpose,
	to serve as burnt offerings like this.
You could speak to them;
	please could you speak to them?
You could tell them:
	I am the Lord your God.
	I love these despised selves.
You cast them off, but they rose up to heaven,
	and now I want you to have them back,
	as good as new.

Here's an idea, Lord:
	maybe you could slip them into the backpacks.
Maybe when the bus comes back,
	and the kids come home,
maybe they could open up their bags and find,
	among the books and pens and pencils,
their lost hours,
	and their spent sighs,
	and their beloved selves.
Maybe you could pin a note to them—you know.

And, dear Lord,
	if you find anything else up there,
	anything that rose up forty-odd years ago,
	anything that belongs to me,
	could I have it back please?
I promise to take better care of it this time.