The Forgotten Teacher

The city's dark and silent streets Are wet and cold in late November. The trees stand still; a fireplace heats A house which few care to remember. In this forgotten, lonely place, The heavy tomes entomb the teacher While, in the dwindling light, his face Betrays a soul of noble features. In this cocoon, he has amassed Much wisdom drawn from lengthy sorrow While, unrelieved, his worries last Far past the grim and hopeless morrow. The world around him moves untouched By knowledge, art or erudition, For those who breathe don’t care for much Outside obtuse, absurd tradition. He is a candle to the world Whose light is seen by ever fewer: His learning shrivels in the cold Before the eyes of heedless viewers. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com