Sitting in this room filled with knowledge and bore,
pondering and wondering what I did before.
What shall I write about this time?
I hear the clock chime.
Three rings telling me to awaken
to write about the forsaken.

I think to myself “Oh, somebody please help me”
I am doomed; nothing comes to me.
I still sit here hearing the “Click-click-click” of the long hand of the clock,
I’m still in shock.
The seconds go by, then the minutes, hour and days.

Finally, one day, I hear a sound a sound of a laugh
I look over and there in front of me is a ghost.
This ghost has the eyes of the bluest sky and the hair of the waviest waves.
She tells me her name is Joana and that she used to go to this school.

I can’t believe this, I am the only one that sees her.
She tells me stories of her life.
She gives me ideas about what to write, she is my savior.
She has saved me, the one and only Joana.

Now I no longer sit in this room filled with bore,
It is much more.
A tale to tell all about in my writing,
the idea I got that one day,
the day I met Joana.