High Class

I was an elementary school teacher, with dreaming eyes to the rosy future, Like the emerald, cherry blossom season, arriving later rather than sooner. As a creative teacher, I was so popular, as children were my pearled world, Like the blooming cloud covered expanse, where spicy wind's lately swirled. I looked forward to adventurous hours, like time with no backward motion, In deep thrill of golden, new discoveries, of which none had a vague notion. Evenings with friends, among roses, found nightingale still sweetly singing, Like moonlit, Sunday night memories, of the time church bells were ringing. My family was endlessly popping in, like vibrant wildflowers from lush beds, In the buttery, afternoon sunshine of days, woven of familiar, gold threads. Through teaching, I hoped to make a difference in some way, huge or small, Like the noticeable, dramatic differences, of fleeting echoes in a vacant hall. I lived in the house of the rosy future, nestled in the arms of a dreamy past, Where sunset's colors recalled a vivid dawn, with impacting, pretty contrast. Purple martins sang in old, sage trees, at golden noon, and also starlit dusk, Aligning with the saffron beat of my street, 'til the time of hot, orange crush! Sunshine neighbors came from all directions, congregating at my back door, Bringing lilacs and fresh revelations, like zesty, sea borne scents near shore. Long awaited summer arrived with bells on, in deepest emerald of our lives, With bluebirds at glazed windows, offering surety that beauty ever survives. Orange, marigold sun shone intensely, for magenta shadows were in hiding; Like a green turtle hides within its shell, as a remarkable means of surviving. I was teaching summer school classes, for children who needed special help, And most behind was one bashful pupil, one which caused my heart to melt! She had for some reason gotten lost, in the complicated process of learning; As the late sun gets lost every evening, and sits in the colorful skies burning. We worked hard all that starry summer, for each topic begins with simplicity, Like atoms upon which all things are based, or spectrum based chromaticity. Amelia and her classmates soon blossomed, as knowledge confers assurance; And Amelia won a spelling bee, while high grades left hurdles in the distance. Today Amelia is a famous astronaut, and the first to walk on red planet, Mars, To think the once bashful little girl, would see new sunsets and Martian stars! Lessons learned early made a difference, and it's what I love about teaching, For the vital ones linger with us always, like silence when nature's speaking. I often picture her above milky clouds, or a place far above my moonlit head, In a land past navy blue night skies, and celestial dreams once sun turns red!