Conversion

Please stop walking;
The cymbals on your feet
Are confusing the cat.

The book in your hand,
A blunter instrument,
Is discomfiting the dog.

And please stop crying;
Your mother will think
Your father has failed,
And you father will think
He's left something at home.

The day started well
Didn't it?
Well, it started:
Page One.
Didn't it.

And now how will it end?
I don't know.
Will it end as it may not have begun?
Nobody knows.

The tribe is flooding in
Full of gush and burble
Filling every corner of the house
With laughter.
Some without grace,
Some without knowledge.

And still you clutch your book,
and still you pace the room.