The two-room school house of my youth,
All the frustrations, fights and fears,
Where we each had to follow suit.
When at times we were brought to tears.

Where we got the first taste of life,
When in our much younger days
And there was some love but some strife,
That in one’s memory still stays.

The hopscotch and the games of tag
We joyfully played away at,
With lots of time we had to shag,
All joyful days they were at that.

The potbelly stove that was there,
In the winter it turned red hot,
At the blackboard we all would stare,
We were happy with our lot.

In our wooden desks we would sit,
Through the window the sun it shone,
The light of life in us was lit,
Doing work that had to be done.

Some of us often felt the strap
At which we laughed and never cried,
At times we fell into that trap,
Sometimes to the teacher we lied.

Now our hair is turning gray
At our struggles we ask why,
But life we know can be that way,
As we all think back with a sigh.

Frank Rowe
St. John’s, NL