THE OLD SCHOOL ON THE HILL

SEVENTH GRADE STARTED IN THE HALLOWED HALLS

OF THE OLD SCHOOL ON THE HILL.

LOCKERS WERE HOUSED IN THE FURNACE ROOM

TO WARD OFF LATE FALL’S CHILL.

 

WOODEN STAIRS THAT CREAKED AND GROANED

LED TO CLASSES ON THE SECOND FLOOR, AND

I’M SURE THERE WERE STAIRS TO THE BELL TOWER

BUT I NEVER FOUND THAT DOOR.

 

EUCALYPTUS TREES LINED THE DRIVEWAY 

AND MOST OF THE PROPERTY LINE.

THEY’D DROP THEIR LEAVES AND ACORNS

AND THE PUNGENT AROMA WAS FINE.

 

THE OLD SCHOOL WAS PAINTED IN SHADES OF GREEN

AND THE PAINT HAD STARTED TO PEEL

BUT NOBODY CARED - IT WAS HER LAST YEAR

HER APPEARANCE BECAME NO BIG DEAL.

 

THAT OLD SCHOOL WAS MORE THAN BOARDS AND BOLTS.

SHE WAS A PLACE WHERE WE ALL LEARNED.

QUICKLY MY YEAR THERE WAS OVER, 

THE CALENDAR HAD TURNED.

 

PINOLE-HERCULES #1 IS GONE NOW,

SHE’S SIMPLY A GHOST FROM THE PAST.

REUNIONS ARE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN

AND I FONDLY REMEMBER THE LAST.

 

BUT SPECIAL PLACES ARE ONLY THAT

BECAUSE OF THE BONDS WE FORM.

SPECIAL FRIENDS AND CARING TEACHERS

ARE HOW LASTING MEMORIES ARE BORN.

 

by Kimbra Young St. Martin 

(member of the last class to attend Pinole-Hercules #1)

1-16-2008