The School Bell

The sound of the same school bell

struck a happier note at school’s end.

A lightness despite school load,

matched spring in return step.

Right after last school bell,

just to rid a heavy satchel,

I truly intended coming home.

But heavy rains beckoned,

gifting a water-logged meadow .

With mud-streaked face and damp hair,

stained clothing, umbrella unopened

knee-deep in muck I heartily plunged.

The easy path was never mine.

One by one I tore at them,

pages from homework book.

From them came rescue boats

to keep drowning creatures afloat,.

With lighter load and carefree heart,

I headed home to mother.

One quick scolding,

a hot bath,

and porridge later,

'twas straight-up beddy-bye.

Undeterred, I did it again.

Over and over...

...until the butterfly called Time

flitted to sit

on another childhood.

Now she stands in front,

twin pigtails askew,

in mud-streaked clothes

and squelchy boots.

I must pretend reproach.

Although I fully understand,

I'll never let her see

that rising indulgence within.

I see me in her

while she sees mother in me.

And there it is, the carefree

and the care in free.

A concern in the free

only my mother once knew

has squarely landed upon me.