My bench is in the first row.
That’s just beneath the teacher’s nose.
Her eyes are on me, glued.
She watches everything I do.
I raise my hand, but I seldom speak.
I guess I am perfectly meek.
I wish I were in row four or five.
And then I would really come alive.
I would crack some jokes and raise the graph.
I would be happy and make them laugh.
Winner of this month’s kids writing competition.