My boyhood home, my refuge, my fortress,
 And Goldwood School, looming, deserted, alluring,
 Faced each other across a busy road.

       A warm summer day. Time to explore.
       Massive front doors, all locked.
       A rear basement door, unlocked, calls to me: “Come in.”

 Dark, dingy, spooky inside.
 Where do these stairs go?
 I’ll hold the handrail tightly as I climb.
 It’s getting brighter as I ascend.

       Sunbeams shine through tall, dusty windows along a hallway.
       I tread with reverence through these hallowed halls,
    Once colorful, now grey.
      My footfalls tap the floor; echoes bounce from walls.

 No young voices. No busy noises.
 The office, eerily empty.
 A tall, wood-cased clock, its pendulum now still, 
 Displays the time it was abandoned many years ago.

       Classroom doors line the hallway.
       Tiny desks inside, all in rows,
       Await children who will never return.

 My boyhood home and Goldwood School.
 Both long gone, yet eternal in my soul.