Four 0′ clock strikes,

Theres a rising hum,

The doors fly open,

The children come.

With a wild cat-call

And a hop-scotch hop

And a bouncing ball 

And a whirling top,

Grazing of knees

A hair pull and a slap,

A hitched up satchel,

A pulled down cap,

Bully boys reeling off

Hurt one sqeeling off

Aviators wheeling off,

Mousy ones stealing off,

Wollen gloves for chillblains

Cotton rags for snufflers,

Pigtails, coat-tails,

Tails of mufflers,

Machine-gun cries,

A kennel full of snarling

A hurricane of leaves,

A treeful of starlings,

Thinning away now

By some and some,

Thinning away, away,

All gone home.

                                                      Hall Summers