The old school house



Dust blowing across barren lands
Scrub, crinkled and dry
The old school house stood
Empty and gaunt, barren
A roof laden with brush
Bare unshaded walls
Now weak with age
Dust now covers all traces of a fence

Dust now covers everything
Traces of students, books
Maps still hanging, yet faded and withered
I linger, thinking of children past
I linger thinking of voices past
Can you hear the voices of children past?
Footsteps scurry, through the old school house
Dust creeps in through cracks in the walls
I linger saving my breath dust dries my eyes
Heat and dust, breathes life into this country
Wretched dust nags a mother of this country
Lives created in this country, heat and dust
A mother of the bush children, heat and dust
Voices sharp and husky years of heat and dust
Mothers and children of hope

Maybe dreams of a school teacher
Dreams of teaching in the heat and dust
The spirit and the dust
You would be fussed
Children free to roam
An existence, I found at home
Children of the outback free to roam
The dust and heat, children thrived


2 thoughts on “The old school house

  1. My cousin Dee is 74 and went to a one room school house in West Virginia, USA. In fact she wrote and published a book about what it was like growing up in West Virginia, the one room schoolhouse, her Dad being a Coal Miner and when the mines dried up their migration to New Jersey.


    • My Dad finish school in grade 5 he was lucky to do that in the bush, along with his brothers they never had many school teachers. More often than not they would run wild in the bush growing up. The feel for the country I write about comes from history and the stories my Dad reminisced about when we went to the country he grew up in.


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