A Vanishing Work Of Heart
In a sun baked, shabby classroom that's been made cozy yearly,
stands an icon to a soon vanishing work of heart.
Chasing dreams to split seams of reluctant young minds
and fill them with the joy of what teaching imparts.
In the scald of late summer, and through mid-winters gloom,
she can be found there daily from August till June,
whether pulling bus duty with the kids by the curb
or sharing witty blurbs to quell the boredom of verbs.
Leaving high school at sixteen and hungry for knowledge
she started teaching at twenty fresh faced out of college.
And not for the money it was a mere pittance then,
but for the sheer joy of sharing her education.
Helping struggling students on ways to be prudent
and praising them often when they showed great improvement.
For thirty-five years going on thirty-six,
she has taught both the honors as well as kids with conflicts.
bent over our kitchen table when school days were done
she's spent hours grading essays often reading me one.
Great works from some youthful exuberance spent,
testimonies to some of the talents she'd lent
then delighted she'd mark it 100%.
Often staying after school to work on backloads,
or for discipline meetings, bullying and dress codes.
working even on crutches, and through miserable colds.
Blamed for greed in the union that protected her rights,
her true union's with her students every day, many nights.
Don't pretend you can govern what teachers go through,
till you stand years in a classroom and do what they do.
all good teachers with tenure should be cherished most dearly,
they help guide younger teachers from hard lessons learned yearly.
They've handled what worst case scenarios brought
hands on, in their classrooms, in ways that can't be taught,
I could tell you some stories of the glory and grief,
that would start up a recall and change your belief.
But she'll still show up daily regardless of costs,
cause she knows it's the students who will suffer the loss,
She's cried many nights because soon she'll retire,
it's so hard to leave when you've still got the fire,
it's the kids she will miss, it's that bond that is made,
that is severed forever to go sit in the shade.
When her last class are seniors she'll be a senior too,
still holding great love for what she used to do.
Pat the back of a teacher, don't belittle the job,
cause truth is, in the end it's the kids who'll be robbed,
how many young souls do you think will apply
for a teacher's certificate as time goes by,
if they whittle away at school budgets and pay,
makes me wonder who'll be teaching my grandkids someday.
This poem is my tribute, cause I'm proud of my wife
she's reached hundreds of kids, sharing lessons for life.
ArtWhimsically Yours Studio
MFB III Productions -(C)-2011
stands an icon to a soon vanishing work of heart.
Chasing dreams to split seams of reluctant young minds
and fill them with the joy of what teaching imparts.
In the scald of late summer, and through mid-winters gloom,
she can be found there daily from August till June,
whether pulling bus duty with the kids by the curb
or sharing witty blurbs to quell the boredom of verbs.
Leaving high school at sixteen and hungry for knowledge
she started teaching at twenty fresh faced out of college.
And not for the money it was a mere pittance then,
but for the sheer joy of sharing her education.
Helping struggling students on ways to be prudent
and praising them often when they showed great improvement.
For thirty-five years going on thirty-six,
she has taught both the honors as well as kids with conflicts.
bent over our kitchen table when school days were done
she's spent hours grading essays often reading me one.
Great works from some youthful exuberance spent,
testimonies to some of the talents she'd lent
then delighted she'd mark it 100%.
Often staying after school to work on backloads,
or for discipline meetings, bullying and dress codes.
working even on crutches, and through miserable colds.
Blamed for greed in the union that protected her rights,
her true union's with her students every day, many nights.
Don't pretend you can govern what teachers go through,
till you stand years in a classroom and do what they do.
all good teachers with tenure should be cherished most dearly,
they help guide younger teachers from hard lessons learned yearly.
They've handled what worst case scenarios brought
hands on, in their classrooms, in ways that can't be taught,
I could tell you some stories of the glory and grief,
that would start up a recall and change your belief.
But she'll still show up daily regardless of costs,
cause she knows it's the students who will suffer the loss,
She's cried many nights because soon she'll retire,
it's so hard to leave when you've still got the fire,
it's the kids she will miss, it's that bond that is made,
that is severed forever to go sit in the shade.
When her last class are seniors she'll be a senior too,
still holding great love for what she used to do.
Pat the back of a teacher, don't belittle the job,
cause truth is, in the end it's the kids who'll be robbed,
how many young souls do you think will apply
for a teacher's certificate as time goes by,
if they whittle away at school budgets and pay,
makes me wonder who'll be teaching my grandkids someday.
This poem is my tribute, cause I'm proud of my wife
she's reached hundreds of kids, sharing lessons for life.
ArtWhimsically Yours Studio
MFB III Productions -(C)-2011
Written by the husband of an Ohio teacher who must continue working beyond 35 years because he does not currently have a full time job and STRS spousal HC is out of sight. They still have a son in high school.
posted by Kathie Bracy at 9:55 AM
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