I  woke up feeling thankful for my school —

Hand School —

grades 1 though 12 —

one big square building

with twelve class rooms

and a music room

some offices

plus a basement where we ate lunch

with 3 cent milk

and often macaroni and cheese.

Then on top, sort of tower

where a nurse help forth.

I walked to school.

Thirty-two of us

became the Class of ’45.

I remember the names and faces

of  many of my teachers

and many of my classmates —

but not all.

There were reunions for a time

but they ceased awhile back.

Most of us are no longer

though I still hang on.

Maybe the others are all gone —

nobody keeps track anymore.

My school days were not my best days

but they are  becoming better as I look back.

I had some good teachers —

some good friends.

Mostly forgotten

I try to bring up everything I can this morning.

thankful for all the was-ness that is no more.

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