Summer Together: A Song of SLOCA

Good Monday to you! We have something fun to share today: parents, if you were at morning meeting on the last Monday/Tuesday of school, LMS teacher Nick Stavros (who will be dearly missed, as he moves out of the area) shared a poem he wrote about SLOCA, modeled after A Song of Sherwood by Alfred Noyes. It is clever and entertaining, but also a great reminder of the special community that we have in our teachers, staff, and families. 

(Thank you, Nick, for graciously sharing this with us so that we can post it here. We are grateful for the years you were part of our community, and we wish you all the best in your new adventures!)

A Song of SLOCA

by Nick Stavros

SLOCA in the morning, is everyone awake?

Misty morning shadows are gliding through the brake,

Shadows of a math problem, challenging and forlorn,

Dreams of future pathways; tomorrow’s heroes born. 

Parents who work so hard all year; all the merry thieves

Heard a piercing whistle-note shivering through the leaves,

Calling as it usually calls… shrill, not far enough away

At SLOCA, at SLOCA, about the break of day.

Merry San Luis Obispo has met the month of June:

Memories of a excellent year over all too soon,

Like brand-new constellations, fluttering in a mist

Of learning, and field trips, and e-mails, and grids.

Foggy, chilly morning is fading as of old,

Here the hills are sunny, covered in waves of gold:

And everyone is meeting here, on the Central Coast…

At SLOCA, at SLOCA, a uniquer place than most. 

Softly toward the schoolyard the south wind blows.

The excitement of the summer swiftly and swifter grows.

Here in week 37, buried in final tests this deep,

SLOCA in the blue dawn, when can we sleep in?? 

Calls them and they answer: from aisles of chairs and desks,

Students ask bright questions; students do their best

As the pages begin to flutter and the brains begin to fry,

And towards the golden time of summer the SLOCA band goes by. 

Hark, the voice of a teacher wakes us as of old!

And, shattering the silence with a cry of brighter gold,

Bugles in the greenwood echo from the steep,

SLOCA in the blue dawn, is Lower Middle School asleep?

Students! Teachers! Admins! All you merry thieves

Answer as the squeaky microphone shivers through the leaves,

Calling as it often calls, loud and clear today,

At SLOCA, at SLOCA, about the break of day.