These Tiled Halls

I walk through these tiled halls,
The resounding foot falls;
pockmarcked passageways
and locker-lined walls.

People pass,
rushing to class
so that they can pass
to end the day
on warm stringed grass.

Not I,
Not me,
Not for fun,
I am done.

So I walk through these tiled halls,
My resounding feet fall;
In pockmarked passageways
and locker-lined walls.

The bell will ring;
I walk away this spring.
People will pass;
I walk away this class
and end my day on warm stringed grass

For I,
For me,
For fun,
I am done.