Looking around the class room,
A little one sees signs and letters,
The sight sends her to a state of gloom,
As if they hold her in tethers.
She loves to see little flowers,
Likes to hear lovely rhymes
Wants to play out of the towers,
Longs to dance to the chimes.
The call of numbers make her tired
The fractions keep her morose,
The intricacies leave her on board ,
As she has to slog overdose.
The decimals confuse her still,
As she misses to place them in the right digit
Solving problems break her will,
So she withdraws in a frigid.
This preliminary skill elicits a technique,
To solve not only mathematics,
Also to cross check the life’s streak,
In a sequential geometric.
The little girl will master slowly,
The fractions and decimals in a spree,
As she grows up ideally,
To grab the intensity in a glee.
Meenas Poems 