Our playground sand was full of sticks,
And black dirt from other places.
It was made of splintered wood,
The swinging bridge belonged to a castle,
Bold knights jousted.
We played on it in the dim time before school started,
I remember it being quiet,
After the buses pulled away,
It was a secret hour.
Later we got a new playground,
Much more fun to play on.
By our own efforts it was filled with new sand,
Flour, silky, sand.
That was a good day,
When the whole school stood shoulder to shoulder,
Shovelling smooth sand.
We gave the old playground to the younger kids,
Who we could boss around.
It never changed, beneath pine trees,
Sand, and dirt and sticks,
Below a refuge,
Of slides and other contraptions.