Some kids don’t like poetry….

​​It was 2nd grade, the air was still, and so was everyone. It was time for English. The least favorite subject of all the kids in school. We were unusually quiet at this hour of the day. The only thing that was breaking the silence was the teacher’s soft humming. She was in a gaily mood. "It is poetry week, children!" She said in her sing-song voice, and there we were, in a pitch-black room. There was only one light visible, far away ahead. We were at the start of, what seemed a never-ending tunnel of poems. There were poems everywhere, laughing at us pointing their sharp nailed, crooked fingers at us. They were saying something, but we didn't understand, for it was in a different language. Poetry was a different language, and the kids didn't understand it. A gush of air in our face startles us. We are back in the room. There will still be poetry tomorrow.

This was actually supposed to be a hook for an essay I was writing, but I got carried away and wrote this mini story. Tell me what you think. Btw: if you too have a tendency to do this, pick a sentence or two that best represents the theme of your essay and use it as your book instead of putting the whole thing.