Notes About The Poem
8/24/2026 for Wake Me Up When September Ends Poetry Contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
Back to School (DHR)
Would I, a young boy, ever tire
of bike-riding on those streets, tree-lined,
whose leaves in fall have turned to fire,
as summer days, unhurried and kind,
give way to Autumn and plans much higher,
to enrich my growing child’s mind?
Fix a flat on my Stingray bike? I don’t mind!
I’d gladly fix a rusty, rubber tire,
or do a task or chore of any kind;
but no, I won’t go back to school’s hell fire,
and write on a paper, thinly lined,
and forget my kite, to drift, e’er higher.
Yet, my grade level must also grow higher,
and I must cultivate and feed my mind,
and forget the lazy days and rope swing tire.
I hope my teacher this year will be kind.
In time, I’ll feel inside, the burning fire,
to scan shelves of books, thickly lined.
So, I and the other children gamely lined
up, outside class, as the sun rose higher.
Inside: “Annette would you much mind,
if I sit next to you. My feet are quick to tire?
Thank you, you are so very kind”,
I said and saw a glint of laughter or of fire.
Indeed, it was not books that lit my fire
as my heart fell, hook and sinker, lined.
It makes me wonder if teachers ever tire
of watching a crushing child lose his mind
as they guide toward aspirations, higher,
of the scholastic, educational kind.
So, here’s my thanks to teachers of every kind,
and to the everlasting fire
to convey knowledge with faces, lined,
aiming always, forever higher,
to guide and develop a child’s mind -
persevering heroes that never tire.
Tree swing tire, your time, too, will come, in kind.
Green lined streets will replace those on fire
when the sun is higher, and summer returns to mind.
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