[R. S. Gwynn]

Oh, my grades are all posted, I'm being self-toasted,
I'm free for a little relaxing.
So I'm off on a spree now; I surely can't see how
I'll do any work I find taxing.

I shall spade in the garden and surely grant pardon
To anyone who has offended,
For I'm spared of my labors, and all of my neighbors
Will know that my bondage has ended.

I'll dial Rush and I'll call in complaints, or I'll fall in
With those who spend all their time blogging,
Or I'll sleep through the daylight and hope that this May might
Run out ere I'm given a flogging.

Though my students groan sadly I know that I've gladly
Distributed what they're deserving.
For the sands that they built on would never please Milton:
I stand and I wait and I'm serving.

So I say, "Raise a cheer now and hoist a fresh beer now
And praise when things come to an ending."
I'll be sadder but wiser (Did I say Budweiser?)
Beyond all the world's comprehending.

[Holly Martins]

Thanks for this one, Sam - it nicely captures the euphoria of 'school's out'. Here's a primary counterpart:


MICHAELMAS

First day of term, first school assembly, new kids in the front
propped up like garden gnomes; around the walls some fresh displays
for autumn: spider webs, gold leaves and Halloween. The blunt
truth says that summer’s gone and taken all her happy days.

A hymn announced, she strikes up, fingers rusty, unprepared,
C major, thank God - she could play One more step in her sleep;
the kids join in a beat too late, and flat (as if she cared),
a bass profundo in her ear: the Head sings sharp, the creep.

And suddenly she’s strolling by the waterfront at Reading -
early summer, blossom on the trees, the sky high blue,
a bookshop, new books in her hands, an afternoon of reading
in her parents’ garden hammock to look forward to.

Too soon she’s back, the captive of 300 cross-legged elves,
and looking down she sees her hands still playing by themselves.