The One Room Schoolhouse

If you listen very carefully

I’m sure that you can hear,

the shuffling of many footsteps

in the school house standing near.

The call to attention by the teacher,

the clatter of lunch pails put on shelves,

the pledge of allegiance to the flag,

the singing of a song – not too well.

The learning of the three “R’s” with time left,

of course to tease, putting pigtails in the ink well

while hoping teacher doesn’t see.

Shouts of laughter on the playground,

echo down through many years,

standing empty in the shadows is the school I love so dear.

Well worn steps embrace the doorway,

the bell in the belfry still hangs high,

the old well pump, though rusty,

stands in the weeds near by.

The paint has peeled from the clapboards revealing scars

of yesteryear makes me think of all my schoolmates,

and I wish that they were here.