We were young bright faced back then
Yet lived through each hard war year.
Seated far too long we were fidgety
Shifting again and again in our chair,
Adolescently tuned in for ring, ring,
Recess, up and out, gulping in fresh air.
Loudly spilling out past heavy metal doors
We chose sides for macadam ball games,
High-low jumping preceded double Dutch .
Pupil pods were sprouting lifelong nicknames .
We chalked for hop Scotch, loved dodge ball,
Made fast friends long before our adult aims .
How high could a metal chain swing be pumped ?
How fast could the rickety old merry-go-round turn ?
How much climber time did we spend up side down ?
How was hard steel hand polished smooth as an urn ?
How far out were the fields where big kids played ?
How do we remember Miss Neiman who urged us all to learn ?
She joins with memories of cool chilling breezes sent yet
From western blue skies, mauve at late sunset, still .
She is present in our thoughts about classrooms, those of
The playground, even, out picking milkweed pods, at a fire drill .
Mrs. Francis Neiman Buchert, here today with us, is our
Connection to Lower Pottsgrove Elementary School, built upon a hill .
Ronald C . Downie