Off To School Poem by Les Littleford

I see them up and down the road,
assorted uniforms, varied demeanours.
Hair tousled, crimped, and chopped,
embodiments of that eponymous snail.

Others with more determined gait,
fresh faced,
keen,
exude a sense of purpose.

I imagine them in class.
Individuals dredged from my memory,
reborn in these new students who
I seem to know, but know not.

I want to talk to them.
Explore their hopes and fears.
Encourage those whose feet are slow.
Share the excitement of those
whose steps spring with enthusiasm,
curiosity.

And I know I can’t.
It’s a pleasure now denied.
A privilege to have enjoyed
so long.