Winter’s cold edge bites my lips and cheeks
as I walk the lane to the old school house.
Naked trees looked frosty and forlorn
skeletons whose limbs pleaded for warmth.
The road is full-grownup and branches obstructed
one I used to caper through like a lion.
Visualizations occurred of children running and tagging
hide and seekers combed areas for the vanished.
Young children full of vitality ran and played
little puppets controlled by many strings.
Recess short, the days long and studious
no foolishness in the one room with two windows.
The pot-bellied stove heated with wood
clothes, hair and body reeked with stinky smoke.
Hot soup cooked on top to feed lunch
corn-bread and an apple came with the meal.
Why should I want to return to this dwelling…
felt I left something I missed in life?
A mature person seeks contentment at the school…
love, friendship, happiness, no worries breathed there
a compulsory loss in midst of a fast lane of living
pursued the secure ambiance of the once space.
A life ripe and full of exhilarations fulfilled the mind
without any indecision of choices and diversities…
Ah, life was sympathetic in the dynasty up the lane.
Writer of this poem is Barbara Kasey Smith – Copyright 2014 – Use by Permission Only.