Philip Larkin

The cloakroom pegs are empty now,

And locked the classroom door,

The hollow desks are lined with dust,

And slow across the floor

A sunbeam creeps between the chairs

Till the sun shines no more.

Who did their hair before this glass?

Who scratched 'Elaine loves Jill'

One drowsy summer sewing-class

With scissors on the sill?

Who practised this piano

Whose notes are now so still?

Ah, notices are taken down,

And scorebooks stowed away,

And seniors grow tomorrow

From the juniors today,

And even swimming groups can fade,

Games mistresses turn grey.