The Schoolhouse

Amongst that handsome coppice,
Stands the school house. 

The wood stood tall.
Like riven sticks.
Driven to the ground–

Like frozen thickets. 

The sun shone thru,
Over the ridge of the roof.

Snow dazzled my eyes,
And melted my heart. 

Sat atop amongst dog-tooth branches–
Put upon that hill:

Stood the school house.

It lives a second life–
It lives even stronger still. 

 

Not ninety-nine years.
Had made a mark.

Now painted red.

Made strong and stark.

And inside,
Put upon the wall:


The flag of fourty-eight states.

A reminder of a humbler place.

A place for a better mind,
And a slower pace. 

We walked the wood.
Walked were deer had walked,
And slept and stood.
Through oak wood.

Through its frozen depths–

We crept.

And as I left,
I waved to goodbye,
To the Pumpkin pecan sky.


A perfect good bye.


To that perfect slice,

Of American pie. 

Written February 2016, Minnesota, U.S.A.
Dedicated to my colleague and friend Pete.

 

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