I
Salad Days
Gail Mitchell ©1985
A hazy, lazy day
In late July. The sun shone strong on our bare legs.
As we sat, our minds on nothing much.
The soft plod as racket meets ball
Is all we hear.
And above us a chorus of enchanted birds
Sing tunes that match our hearts that sing.
And above us and beside us, shadowing us
From the burning glare of the sun
Stands the School.
Hated. Loved.
Our dear old School.
So full of all the memories of days like these.
And beneath this timeless moment
An underlying sense of trust
Planted in friendships these past five years.
And far, far away outside this safe small world which we call home.
A bulldozer ploughs its way through the fields where we once sat
And sows the seeds of something new.
Modern and Ugly.
Just like the hands of time which plough though our lives
And destroy these days we have loved.
Gail Mitchell ©1985