On my way to Yeadon

Long shadows stretch over the bus,
Spindly branches, like fingers, reach over the over.
The hypnotic flickering between the trees
Forcing my eyelids to become heavy.

A clear blue sky contrasts the recent week,
Like the sun's rays contrast the frigid air outside.

Periodic chimes, the bus stops and starts,
Ever changing who it is carrying.

Far behind is the bustle of the city,
Now quiet towns yawn as they pass by.

And then I arrive, as if too soon,
Silence as the whole school waits for the bell.
The birds singing in the trees,
Remain blissfully unaware.

By Pete Scopes