That was a shed , my preschool ,
With a roof of dried palm leaves
A shattering and old one
The teacher there was
An old man with crossed eyes
As a marshal always has a cane
In hand to make us learn
Sitting on the ground , polished
With cow dung , we learn
Alphabets , on sand
Yes that was our slate
We always wait for Neethu,
The daughter , purple eyed ,
Of the landlord in the village
Always came in a a bull cart.
She was so cute
It is she made my little heart
Dreaming .Little dreams
Oh Neethu where are you now
I miss you really .
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ReplyDeletei went to a similar school. now i laugh how the school sent us home whenever it rained. they wouldn't mind us getting drenched. it was some experience!
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