Fleeting Moments

The sharpener grinds, a soothing whir hums,

shavings tumble down like soft, brittle crumbs.

In the hush of the room, thoughts mingle and blend,

a moment so still, where focus can mend.

Lost in the quiet, the clock ticks its pace,

each sound wrapped in layers, we slow our embrace.

Those soft, fleeting memories, drifting through time,

in a simple classroom, where chaos can rhyme.