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
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