The Old School

The old building is not there,

But memories of it many others share

Often the times we marched through the hall,

And numerous incidents we recall,

As we marched in from the walk,

We were not allowed to talk,

If forgetting we spoke a word,

The voice of the principal could be heard

Reminding all we must not chat,

Or we could be called upon the mat-

Learning came first in that day,

And, if not, we could stay away-

So we tried to obey each rule,

and be a credit to our school-

There were beloved teachers through the years

But at times there were fears and sometimes tears

Many students went on great things to do

And leave a mark in the world, its true.

Many years later there is a reverse role

I stood in front of a classroom to behold

A group of forth-five youngsters alert and bright

Observing closely to see that I did things right-

From year to year a new group came,

But seeking knowledge was still the same

Most were caring and brought great joy,

And the majority were good girls and boys-

Occasionally, someone would disrupt the others,

And I would be compelled to have a talk with mothers

The old classrooms are gone forever,

But lives through the years you cannot sever.

Pearl Johnston '23

(Written in 1986)
 

Life is Fragile

Life is a very fragile thing,

We never know what a day will bring-

We have to do the best we can,

Trying to help our fellow man over the

bumpy , winding road,

Hoping to lighten a heavy load-

Keeping faith in our God of love,

Who is with us daily from above-

Pearl Johnston '23

(Written 1992, Motivated by Hurricane Andrew!)
 

Little White Daisies

The little white daisies

always appear,

Reminding me that spring is here.

The grass comes up green

and thin,

But the little white daisies

always win,

Covering the yard with a

blanket white,

Making the grass put up

a fight-

The little white daisies

seem to say

Later on you will have

your day,

We will be gone when the

sun shines hot,

Then, green grass, you can

take our spot.

So at this time give up

your fight

And we will bloom

with all our might.

Pearl Johnston '23

(Written 1989)

Our years

Swiftly come and go the years,

From our childhood's falling tears;

Then through teen age we will go,

Thinking that time moves so slow.

The twenties come and we survive,

And suddenly we are glad to be alive.

Through the thirties and forties there's

not much leisure,

Parenting, a career and maybe some pleasure.

The fifties keep us feeling low

As more wrinkles begin to show.

With the sixties comes Medicare

And then we feel there's nothing to fear.

In the seventies and eighties there are aches and

Pains,

And they are always worse when it rains.

We have heard that the nineties are gold,

And we are not sick, but we are just old.

And if we make it to the century line,

We will be acclaimed as doing fine,

As we travel through the years;

Often we lose our eyesight and our ears,

And maybe our dentures don't fit so fine;

But we should be happy if we still have our mind.

Pearl Johnston '23

(Written in 1988)