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Sping Stream of Consciousness at a lesson.

Sitting at a lesson is such a boring thing,
Staring through the windows at the early spring.
People come and go through a sunny day,
Either with some purpose or maybe just in vain.

The birds have just come home, glad to meet again:
Fussy summer rest from steady winter strain.
The smiling face of light is warmening the ground,
And every homeless dog thinks itself a hound.

Girls catching the warmth are losing their clothes,
Exciting neither boys or men, but most probably both.
The sky is so deep and blue - eternal lazure dome...
Oops! The bell has gone, the lessons over, it's time to go home.