FIRST LOVE

Did all little boys fall in love with their Sunday school teacher when I was young? Yes, absolutely! And that innocent affection lingers to this day.

SUNDAY SCHOOL

On Sundays, we were led away,
like God's beloved Israelites,
before the sermon, full of wrath,
through doors where heavy curtains hung,
red velvet, like a parted sea,
to Sunday School and gentleness,
rich tales from the Old Testament
with sing-song chants to plant them deep.

We boys, dressed up like little men,
all worshipped sweet Miss Nicholl then.

I loved that short, entrancing hour
that almost-truant time enjoyed
in school but not in proper school.
Freed from the cradle-coffin pew,
the scrutiny of father's eye,
the moth-ball smell of Sunday best,
we boys would chatter like small birds
that had not yet learned how to fly.

Miss Nicholl, long dead, I suppose,
was young then, lovely as a rose.