The Old National School Poem by Margaret O Driscoll

The old national school,
yard overgrown,
roof slates missing,
door jambed open,
green-tinged walls

In the porch low coat hooks, memories of dripping coats
Each February there a priest heard First Confessions

The infants room,
floor boards broken,
the blackboard crumbling

The seniors room,
the principal's podium,
an old map of Ireland faded

A flashback comes -
the principal's feet stomping,
shouting, wielding her hazel stick,
a student stammering,
his hand outstretched
the whack of the stick!