The Old School House
The tiny old school, which was my first guide,
has become a museum of a distant age.
The playground--swings, bars, and slide,
still stand in mute dismemberment stage.
A fence around, a ticket to buy,
purchasing memories packed away.
Days so distant, unseen if you try;
Sharpened pencil scent, recalled today.
Inside, Grade One, up the stairs, Grade Two.
How can it now all appear so small?
So proud to pass to second-grade view
learning how to write, we felt so tall!
The tables are there: six of us at each,
and now I don't remember one name.
They gave our class the best to teach:
so tiny, like one of us, we felt the same.
Some memories better left behind,
with sadness they bring of years long past;
and daydreams we always hoped to find
around the corner where dreams can last.
September 13, 2022
for Back to School contest
by Francine Roberts
Honorable Mention
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