My memory sweeps back to Palouse Grade School --
I smell wintergreen -- it's library paste,

Some teacher sent me to see the Principal --
I went to his office without haste,

The floors in this new school shine like glass --
Two janitors tend the furnace, wax and buff,

I couldn't go to school until six years of age --
Any sooner? a kid's not old enough,

The old school is still sitting on the hill --
It's not been bulldozed to make room for the playing field,

Near the Wilson kids' house sits a Packard convertible --
Top down, rotted upholstery revealed,

I always wondered what became of that car --
It disappeared around nineteen fifty,

Methinks, in retrospect, it was towed away --
Might have been restored, collectable and nifty,

Not much from my childhood is worthy of note --
My recollection of grade school ending is not so hot,

I do recall an eighth grade celebration of sorts --
Aunt Ida's coffee in a two-gallon cooking pot.

by D. Edgar Murray 06/18/2000.