The Old School
In the old country school
under the cool of the tree
I scribbled
on the dust’s pages
and the wind
my unfailing teacher
blew away my wrongs
and whispered corrections
and mother tilling the soil
to philosophy’s depth
unearthed syllabi
to school my eager eye
the enduring sun
shifting the shade’s course
moved me from class to class
to my graduation
About this poem
This poem, representing Zimbabwe, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
