It’s the smell. The smell of hundred-year-old
hardwood floors in this old school I recognize most,
floors grown thick and corpulent with untold layers
of pine-scented oil - floors darkened, smoothed
by the trample of children herded, then corralled
in dank stables down these long corridors. I also
remember the confinement I felt, pinned within
these stables, wanting nothing more than to be free,
with the wind of youth brushing my untamed hair.
–
hardwood floors in this old school I recognize most,
floors grown thick and corpulent with untold layers
of pine-scented oil - floors darkened, smoothed
by the trample of children herded, then corralled
in dank stables down these long corridors. I also
remember the confinement I felt, pinned within
these stables, wanting nothing more than to be free,
with the wind of youth brushing my untamed hair.
–
2 comments:
You've brought me back to school, Warren. Don't know whether to thank you or chew you out.
Probably, if you disliked school like I did, you should cuss me out. Thanks for your reading, Bill!
War
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