The old schoolhouse is gone now
Sold to the highest bid
To become a lowly grain bin
Or a storage shed.

A school full of memories
Not needed, outdated.
Bus travel is the way no
Schools consolidated

A school where grades 1 to 8
Learned to read and spell
This one room held many
A special story to tell.

There is no plaque in place
Not one single thing;
Just the maple tree bent low
From the old tire swing.

A school once proud on a corner lot
White painted frame of wood;
A shelf with water can and dipper
In the corner stood.

Rows of windows facing south
To let in the light,
Coat hooks in the back hall,
Wash basin to the right.

Initials carved in the desks
Memories of a soul,
Teacher's desk, pot-bellied stove
Eating wood and coal.

A room hot near the stove
But cold at the edges
Smelly steaming wet mitts
And heating soup lunches.

School bell rung at 9 sharp
Teacher with roll call;
Small first graders at the front
Back reserved for tall. Stand, recite the Lord's prayer,
0 Canada is sung
Or God Save the Queen
Outside the flag is hung.

Teacher reads aloud to some
Chapters of Moby Dick,
Geography, Health, and English
And Grade 3 arithmetic.

Several grades in progress all,
A story a child would hear­
Trying to do his own lesson
But listening with one ear.

Looking back in time today
Maybe we are the fool;
I wonder if the best way to learn
Was in that country school?