“Your task is to write a poem. The title is: A Thing of Beauty”

T

he day was unseasonably hot, my sixth graders unusually restless. Time was somehow ticking backward. Thirty minutes before the bell was due to ring, I’d had enough. The air itself felt tired.

I rapped sharply on the desk and told my students to complete their grammar sheets for homework. I then instructed them to take out a blank piece of paper.

There was no mistaking the zing of surprise. My 22 students were caught off guard; this very much veered from the well-trodden script. Tuesdays after recess were always devoted to the intricacies of English grammar.

But hey, anything was better than parsing sentences.

I briefly glanced through an old book of poems lying in the teacher’s desk drawer and selected one at random. “A Thing of Beauty,” I intoned, “by Lee H. Richardson.”

A Thing of Beauty.

Yellow tender shoots

Bursting into blooms of sunshine

Daffodils of spring.

We’d briefly touched upon  poetry I paused and tried to pump some depth into this rather lackluster piece. “This author is seeing spring — the daffodils are putting hope in her world.”

My students were silent as I continued. “You now have exactly 15 minutes to partner with the girl sitting next to you. Your task is to write a poem. The title is: A Thing of Beauty.”

I sat down.