The World in Which We Reside

In a time not so far gone,
Minute by minute the clock ticked on,
He hoped the class would end already,
he was running out of songs.

Yet the clock ticked slow and steady,
and the wait remained minutes many,
his phone used as a distraction,
to leave the boy was more than ready.

Another, wishing to solve his dissatisfaction,
came to him on his own action,
and waved to the sun outside,
the color produced by its refraction.

The friend began to chide,
and signaled for his friend to stride,
there was much to see, sun aside,
take in the world in which we reside.