When I think of school… the past as a playground!

D. David Croot has been writing on and off (pretty much continually) for nineteen hundred years. He is no preternatural creature, no real special abilities or heightened desires to speak of, but he’s put in his four-trillion hours and it’s all for you my sweaty precious and sublimely beautiful creatures.

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We had fat teachers who knew their schtick

Young teachers who were nothin but thick

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Ratty arsed snot nosed pupils

Devils with no morale scruples

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Fiendish angels with sculpted face

Ruminated anguish of scripted faith

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Bounties of treacherous times furore

Traded times had, for beauties future

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Deaths coffins, traded places within

Sunburnt fudge pudding on soft white skin

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Architecture fixed firm and attentive

Worlds curses, held hidden, invective

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A safe haven for all those agreed