Country schoolhouse

It ought to be time for school to begin;
 But there isn't a soul in sight,
 And the ramshackle schoolhouse on the hill
 Dreams in the mellow light.
 There's no path now to the padlocked door,
 And no path now to the spring.
The playground is a riotous wild garden
 In late-summer flowering.
The black-eyed Susans have yellow lashes,
 And the chicory blossoms are blue,
Like the wide-awake eyes of the children
 The little schoolhouse once knew.
 The building is old and full of chinks,
 And they may as well tear it down,
 For the district now owns a fine new bus
 And hauls the "scholars" to town.
Nobody comes and nothing happens; 
But the dark and light eyes stare
Out of the tangle of the sunlit jungle
 With an expectant air.

HARVEY WAGNER ELINx.