It’s years since a scholar climbed the hill
But the yellow schoolhouse stands there still
In its sunny clearing set between
Rocky pasture and spruce woods green.
On creaking hinges the door swings wide
For any passer to peer inside,
Where the rows of desks and chairs stretch brown,
And poets with beards look kindly down
From the walls they share with maps hung thick,
And a clock that’s forgotten how to tick
In all the years since school let out,
And the last child ran with whoop and shout
Into the still, bright afternoon
Of such another day in June.