Email Poem

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Poem

O teachers pack up and go to bed
The brain is sizzled in their head
Reality disagrees with what is said
The living are not better than the dead

Do you still sing when you are paid
And skip in your works success
Can you convince them you are unafraid
For new fomenting wilderness?

How you furnish them for commerce and trade
And slot them as the market call
You traffic them money for their grade
And no blanket for their fall.

Things are not the same as yesterday
A wiser generation rise
They know the things we hide away
The fire brims their eyes.

O teachers let our children be children just
Once more, give them room to play
Unsaddle them from the hampers of trust
That upon their young lives weigh

The commercial concerns corners  them so
Early, they have no lattitude to think
Liesure is room for a child to grow
The pressuring school made most shrink

O teachers school them beyond classrooms
Take to the mountains to explore
Challenge them to surive where icicles loom
Let them frolic on a sandy shore

And create temporal monuments of love
Here in nature is the school
That the best in the worst of us prove
Guide them with trust as a tool.

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