When An Old School House Talks

Margaret Britton Vaughn

Poet Laureate of Tennessee

Inaugural Board Meeting of the "Friends of the Historic Bell Buckle School"

3 Aug 2022

There's a lot of talk about me,

They don't need me around,

So, I 'd like to say a few words,

Before they tear me down.

See that wall over there,

If only it could talk,

It did one day back then,

With an old piece of chalk.

In that corner over there,

Old glory hung with pride,

With little hands over hearts standing

Side by side.

Old desks sat over there,

Lined up in a row.

With old books piled underneath,

Telling what they need to know.

Some had initials carved on them,

With love and care.

Before they went out into the world,

To show they had been there.

And the old pencil sharpener

Was on the window sill.

Where the lead had been worn down

And needed to be peeled.

Over there was the cloak room,

That held jackets and things,

Like old balls and gloves

Some of them would bring.

Soon it was lunchtime

They lined up in a row.

Some with old brown paper bags

Parents made to go.

Then they'd go out to play,

On monkey bars and swings,

And homemade airplanes,

With names on their wings.

The grass has grown over

Where they played hop scotch,

But memories are still there,

Where they used to hop.

I could go on forever,

With memories that I hold,

They mean more to me,

Than any pot of gold,

If only the present

Could embrace the past,

I'll always be around,

As long as memory last.