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...
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