The sirens

 The sirens

In the days of old Williston High in the late

night the fire siren would hauntingly wail

long and frenetic at the station through all the town until one or two of the volunteers were mustered from slumber to crank ole engine two and off

to the rescue they’d go.

Today as we drove slowly past a soon gone old Williston High, emanating from the remaining structures was a strange siren like sound, haunting.

In the night long the siren will call, but in these

latter days, no volunteers will heed this siren.

The old gym door a thousand times I swung will go to a particular pile, the fast break from the

past complete.

Sing me the song of Williston again, sing it for those

fortunate to not see the day of the siren wailing.