This lesson of literature in October will be remembered for a long time.
Entering the classroom, the teacher said:
– Come on, let’s go to the park.
– Is not there a lesson? We prepared poems for the autumn, as you asked us!
-And we’ll listen to them right in the park.
The park is located near the school. Now, in October, he was so beautiful – colorful! The leaves on the oaks were dark red, and those that had already fallen were light-brown, like tarnished gold. Leaves of chestnut trees, fallen on the juniper bushes, seemed incredibly large.
We walked slowly along the park. Everyone forgot about the lesson. And then Anna Sergeyevna solemnly began:
– It’s a sad time! eyes of charm…
Denis picked up:
I like your farewell beauty –
I love the lush nature wilting…
We finished this poem in chorus.
“For today you prepared poems for the fall,” said the teacher, “I will not call anyone, since our lesson is an unusual one, in the autumn park.” Here the poems will sound sincere, sincerely. “
Alena Lapteva, who has never been active in literature classes, suddenly read:
The forest, like a painted church,
Purple, gold, scarlet…...
The teacher asked: “Who is the author of these marvelous lines?” Several children named Bunin. Anna Sergeyevna asked to think about why the poet compared the forest with the tower. “We often met the word” terem “in fairy tales,” said Alena, “Fairy-tale houses have unusual ornaments, unusual people and animals live there.” So the autumn forest or even this park seems to invite us into a fairy tale. Everyone fell silent, looking around.
And then he began to read the poems of Sergei Denisenko. For some reason, he was very worried:
Dry birch leaf
Powys on a thin spiderweb.
Sinichesky heard a whistle
Of the crown of a thin ashberry…
When he had finished reading, Anna Sergeyevna said that she did not know whose poetry was this. Seryozha replied embarrassed that the poems were his own.
… We were going back to school. Suddenly, one of the girls said: “Look, the impression that the Christmas tree lights burn!” In the distance, in front of the dark green old spruce tree was a fragile, almost completely overfilled birch. The yellow pencil-leaves, left on the branches, seemed small bulbs, lit in the green of the needles.