METHODIST BOYS' HIGH SCHOOL
Beneath the hills of Thunder
where the breeze of Freetown recalls old dreams
stands the home that shaped my voice
Methodist Boys, my heart’s first hymn.
We wore our hopes like spotless shirts
our laughter bright as chapel bells
each lesson is a seed of faith and fight
sown by hands that wished us well.
From worn-out desks and crowded halls
rose minds that learned to conquer storms
to think, to serve, to lift, to love
to be the sons of noble form.
And though I’ve walked through years and change
the hill still calls, the walls still whisper
for in each prayer and in each step
my beloved school still lives in me.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
