Whose Old School?

This is another attempt at some creative writing!  Hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!


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Ancient memorial engraved in floor of a church.

“I’m from the old school, we don’t do it like this,”

Said a voice full of exasperation

While the minister led us in an ancient observance

Apparently forgotten by this congregation.

 

“Old” is no more fixed in its meaning

Than the gentle rain falling on the marshlands

Can be distinguished over and against

The water already standing.

 

In a church with centuries of history,

Meant to be saved from the passage of time

By fading letters engraved in stone,

Honoring those who came before us

In the sight of those who will come after us,

There have been many “old schools,”

Each eventually supplanted by another in its turn.

Raindrops on Water
Raindrops on Water (Photo credit: wanderingnome)

 

One day, I too will be from “the old school,”

Though now I am called by many “new.”

 

But as another ancient curmudgeon said,

“There is nothing new under the sun.”

 

In the back and forth of the centuries

New and old have each traded places many times over,

While we, too often acting as petulant children,

Refuse to recognize that the seesaw moves

Just as much as we do.

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