The modern school of 1970,
With long glass walls and puttied joints,
Stares down the years left in the century,
As one might view the glittering points
Of stars, across a matchless sky, empty

Of clouds and full of wonder.
Much like the children in the yard;
Whose guileless minds are cracked asunder
And filled to spilling with the charge
Of future days, like distant thunder.

‘Each child who does not have their jotter
Line up in front to get the belt’,
Miss Blair, with all her years behind her
Sees only blazered, grubby whelps,
Who dream of stars and flying saucers.

Come death rays, come , rain down.
Annihilate this whey faced teacher
And all rest who think to drown
The feeling that we could still reach
For something more than just this place,
this street, this life, this town

Brian Rutherford

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