morning poem, march 31, 2016

 

 

 

The men who built our schoolhouse

Had just won the Great War

And something of the old order

Still lived in them

.

And so the building was red brick

Three stories high

With rows of tall windows in every classroom

.

Their children would have light

And a view of the sky and the Earth

Green and pleasant

The brick streets and trimmed lawns.

 

I stood once in that hallway

Where the light poured through the clean glass

And thought about tradition

All that had gone before, every price that had been paid

 

And I was afraid and emboldened

As it all weighed down on me

And I wondered where my lot would be

And who would help me on the way.

 

Copyright 2016

 

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