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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
In school there is everything okay so far.
Recently I discovered, that the boy Iˋm there for has a good understanding for my drawings, I do for him instead of explaining orally.
We should use that method, because our teachers are thinking of putting us outside of the class, because we are often to loud.
We will work on that and extend the collaboration between pupil, teacher and me.
The break between two lessions are short and therefore isnˋt much time for an exchange.
Last time Iˋd explained to the teacher that it wonˋt be a good idea to leave he classroom to do the work outside in the aula.
I told her that at the back of the class there are two desk with two computers anused. There we can to the demanded exercises with computer or I make drawings.
The teachers agreed.
I was pretty relieved as you can imagine.