The Learners
Years have taught me this:
Classrooms grow two seasons.
Some minds bloom.
They tilt toward light,
Ask questions like rivers,
Walk long roads with books for bread,
Keep vigil with the moon
Till knowledge breaks the dark.
They lift their parents’ names,
Spark their peers to motion,
And sit-------quietly........
Where crowns listen.
Others arrive as drought.
They silence bells,
Drink effort dry,
Turn patience into ash.
Lessons knock;
Their doors do not answer.
They learn by weight, not will,
Crushing the fragile courage
Of those who teach,
Leaving hearts bruised,
Hope breathless.
So I ask
Are you seed or stone?
Fire or fog?
An answer to sacrifice
Or the thief of time?
Look back at the hands that paid,
The hours poured like rain.
Look forward.
Choose what kind of season
You will be.
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