I’ve seen a wasteful of these dry classrooms,
One study in particular mocks me,
The textbook that never retired till June,
Indeed, her mass theories taunted till three.
How dare she stretch limits to its fair exit,
Invest my time, for diction better learned.
She sighed, for works found less than expected,
And smiled on my effort with no concern.
So these thoughts that now visit do tribute,
To slight lessons she urged youth to keep.
At times, her quotes seek me, to contribute,
I keep these, and her presence, as I weep.
For there is no filter or sub in place,
That could erase her ink from this fond space.
R.I.P. Harriet Meek
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2016