An Old Royals Rhyme Poem by Michael WheelerWyatt

Proudly lead me to the seat of your father
Suggesting the majesty of what is to come
Straight lines of fir framing a master
Forever the monument to my old chums

His father’s house planted the seed
Two lakes, newsprint and a lot of sweat
A Gothic Homage or Victorian greed?
John Walter’s dream we’ll never forget

Six years a young and eager scholar
Now a small face on a school photo
On a wall, in a corridor. Although it seems longer
Memories still remain. But how long will they echo?

Tables and chairs, like soldiers they stand.
The gymnasium so old, the theatre so new
Still waiting for all those ever feared exams
Now Movement and Dance not Greek and Hebrew

A golf course now, where the ‘rhodies’ did stand
Girls once again to keep the boys in tow
Pleased still to find so much woodland
Changes now here for a brighter tomorrow

On the South Lawn to water so fine
A rare walk with my Dad, birdsong in the air
The shade of rare trees breaking the sunshine
Back to the chapel so quick without a care

To be an Old Royal and all that means
Two of my own in my fortieth year
To send them to Bearwood and find the fee’s
Is now even more of a clear goal to me?