The Teacher's Lament

In the classroom, a battlefield unseen, I stand, a warrior with chalk for a sword. My armour, compassion; my shield, devotion, Fighting for minds yet to be explored. But the enemy advances, cold and gray, Assessment, a relentless, crushing tide. It drowns the joy, the spark, the wonder, Leaving barren shores where dreams once thrived. My heart, a wounded bird, beats frantically, As I watch my fledglings struggle to fly. In the crossfire of standards and expectations, Their wings clipped before they touched the sky. One child's face, a canvas of defeat, Paints my soul with hues of deepest blue. The test unfinished, a mountain unconquered, His eyes, once stars, were now clouded with rue. My tears, a river carving canyons deep, Flow for the path we've blindly trod. Quality learning, a delicate flower, Trampled beneath this assessment rod. Yet hope, a stubborn seed, refuses to die, Nestled in the soil of my unyielding will. I'll nurture it with every ounce of strength, Till it blooms, our classrooms to refill. For in this garden of young, eager minds, I'll be the rain, the sun, the nurturing earth. No test, no standard, no mandate can steal The right of every child to know their worth. So I'll fight on, my spirit a fortress strong, Against this tide that threatens to consume. For in each child's eyes, I see the future, And in their success, our world will bloom.