The cloakroom pegs are empty now, <br />And locked the classroom door, <br />The hollow desks are lined with dust, <br />And slow across the floor <br />A sunbeam creeps between the chairs <br />Till the sun shines no more. <br /> <br />Who did their hair before this glass? <br />Who scratched 'Elaine loves Jill' <br />One drowsy summer sewing-class <br />With scissors on the sill? <br />Who practised this piano <br />Whose notes are now so still? <br /> <br />Ah, notices are taken down, <br />And scorebooks stowed away, <br />And seniors grow tomorrow <br />From the juniors today, <br />And even swimming groups can fade, <br />Games mistresses turn grey.<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-school-in-august/
