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Poem

The School Bell

I can remember the school bell,
Rising early on an August day.
It chimed half past six,
Beneath the last of summer and its rays.

My love came unbound in its meritorious tale,
Of lines filled of sailors and their sails,
And the trails of scouts 
With whistle and bell in hand,
Looking for places new and unfound.

The schoolchildren lined one by one
For a game of dragonfly in good fun,
And I ran beneath the idle sun.
Tugging upon my pack,
At its end, from its cumbersome rack.

There are lessons pulled out along the seats,
Set and placed in every direction,
The students set to pen and pencil to read,
And the sound of it begins,
The bell, that is, crisp, trimm’d, and clean.

And the last of its day, 
When it all came down and complete, 
My pack remained, 
Bound and intact.
The numerous tasks and equations
Complete and exact.

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