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