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