Let the years pass but our hearts will remember,
Schooldays at Brookfield ended too soon.
Fight to the death in the mire of November,
Last wicket rattles on evenings in June,
Grey granite walls that were [bad word] with out laughter,
Green of the fields where our feet used to roam.
We shall remember, whate’er [bad word] after,
Brookfield our mother and Brookfield our home.