By Kathryn J. Foster

One day my little boy let out a happy shout,
Of course the reason for such joy,
At long last school was out.
Into corners quickly scattered, (of past pains a token),
Chewed up pencils, scribblers tattered,
Worn out books, crayons broken.

Bedtime almost as he chooses,
No reluctance now to rise, daily climbing, cuts and bruises,
Pals galore in every size.
Sun-bleached hair, feet like leather,
Long brown legs in cut-off pants,
Outside in all kinds of weather, catching fish, leap frogs and ants.

Wild stick wars cause a sensation,
Bravely now these soldiers fight,
This grand summer education seems natural and right.
Creating plots, acting out dreams,
Learning much by doing,
No text- book ever caught the theme he is now pursuing.

One sad day my little lad let slip a mournful sigh,
The time had come to make him sad, but pride won't let him cry.
Priceless memories his to keep, again it's time for facts to rule,
A ragged sob in restless sleep, tomorrow son it's back to school.

Remembering my youngest son's early school days
Published in 2005 in "Island Dreams" by Poetry Institute of Canada