There’s a little red schoolhouse
deserted, ignored
on a peaceful old Hoosier road.
Flanked by silver green carpets,
of soybeans who guard
what’s left of this once hallowed place.
A pitiable structure
forgotten by most,
yet alive,
with an echoing past.
If one stills to hear
ghostly children will come…
Divining rods for tempests of words.
A realm for young minds
to learn and explore…
A refuge that teemed
with possessions of youth…
lunch pails, and slates,
pencils, and chalk,
rag dolls, and jump ropes for play.
Magic remains
within the red walls,
where life’s pains and hungers
when rivaled would pale
beside mysteries discovered in books.
The mundane, the cruel
were buried and gone.
Imaginations took flight…
Hopeful spirits would yearn
for a world that encouraged their dreams.
Michelle Close Mills ©
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qualified -- after all, it was just a buncha kids. Rapscallions, every one! Still. . .there are many times when a simpler, less
crowded life appeals. You have done a beautiful job of reminding us
about a national institution that, on the face of it, at least, could not have been simpler or more. . .I don't know. . .for those able to
go, such schools were more democratic? Plus no one assumed that
kids needed to be segregated by age. . .see how much thought you
have inspired? Great images, did I forget to say? Admiringly, 'Pea' <3
enchanting and enduring, that little red brick schoolhouse! and so are your words. :)
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)
Evelyn.
(((HUGS))) and much love, your Tx. friend, Karen Lynn. :D
Looks more like a church tha a schoolhouse...still "Poetry"
Love Tinka
God Bless
Michelle~
Gorgeous memories evoked in this insightful write...
Peter
Sandie May Angel