Musing on school days

This is the great conundrum
         that we are cinders
ash and dust
         from a paradise of stars

We take comfort from beauty
         but beauty passes
just as rose petals fade :
         age erupts on the skin
the muscles lose their tone
         sight grows dim
and though we struggle
         the slope slips downwards
always and away
         to the wild open sea

An old man in a tattered coat
         carries a sturdy ash cane
totters past the old schoolroom
         where first lessons were learnt
—chalk on slate
         and raffia mats

Young hearts and minds
         now fill the space
their euphoria echoes
         through the air
and in the playgrounds
         their hop and skip proclaims
the innnocent assumption
         that they will live for ever

In my hand I have held
         sharp fragments of flint
and wondered at the lives of those
         who shaped these tools
The hardness of that stone
         and the softness of love
immutable stone in the warm hand
         of enduring love

John Lyons

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