White-knuckled nuns rang hand-
bells at recess. They tried hard to tame us.
At noon we ran from the cloakroom, to
dawdle on train tracks, go Indian
file on hot steel, FEEL the
wind- Whom no one has seen- on our faces.
Five -cent copy-books and two-cent
nibs, wooden double- seaters and sloshing
ink wells waited, our destined
imprints momentarily delayed.
margaretmaryjoyce 
Quite enjoyed this. Found myself daydreaming of days gone by.
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Hi Marcella,
I’m so glad you enjoyed it!!! We are of a certain generation, aren’t we! I wanted to capture some of that in words. Thanks for responding!!
Margaret
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Yes, this captures images from schooldays so long ago. I could see the desks! Even the inkwell. What a fun poem!
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Hi Carol,
Thanks so much for your comments. Did you have the nuns too? A tad heavy on the authority, they were, but , all in all, excellent educators, I’d say. Anyway, we can have fun from this distance, looking back.
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