Poem Hunter
How Critical?
(5-28-42 / Washington state USA)

How Critical?

Poem By Cherokee Akan Ewe

It is now old and in need of paint
Sits alone in a field of grass
Poor little lonely one room school
So long ago since it’s had class

If only it could tell us stories
Of the children who sat in its seats
Buzzing with exciting chatter
Never thinking they’d face defeat

School books worn on the corners
For turning down pages a thing to do
Buckets design for their small lunches
Old-fashioned hats that set askew

Oh listen, can you hear the laughter?
Reciting their lessons every day
Recess time in the school yard
It was important to take time to play

But you know, nothing lasts forever
Except, of course, the golden rule
I feel a bit sad when I look upon
This precious lonely one room school!

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Comments (1)

I picked this poem as my husband went to a country school like the one you so beautifully write about. They didn't wear shoes to school, and one teacher taught every class. You bring the school to life Marilyn, through your images and respect for the past. 10 Karin Anderson