Come September: A Poem For Young Teachers

Mrs. Rempel

Elementary School

The tide rises, the tide falls

Longfellow’s words marshall all

Feelings of motion, emotion too

I dare to try to expel to you

And the time rises, the time falls.

In the measure of one’s lifetime

Existence in its prime

Is much like the toddler

seeming an oddler

Though learning meantime.

The young teacher tries

Keeping eye on the prize

To juggle and now spew

Scientific, studied and new

optimistic hopes nere disguised.

And the time rises, time falls.

In the course of those days

Years seem to blaze

Leaving the new scholar

Feeling muddled and smaller

Yet assured in this fray.

Morning still breaks

And the growing instructor takes

Chances and a new course

Venturing into self-source

Trusting intrinsic aches.

And time rises, time falls.

Within this process of growth

Vowing ever to stand by oath

The educator fares better and there

gleaming from students in care

Combines knowledge and circumstance both.

Renewed, inspired our facilitator moves

And with new charges each year improves

Continues to develop and expands

Children grasping the best laid plans

And as always years softly reprove.

And time rises, the time falls.

Come September, last of all,

a year that passes therewithal

concluding being known as teacher

Signifying every feature

Memories enthrall.

And time falls.

Savoring the odds and ends

Considering the awkward bends

Life moves ahead

with words unsaid

And time portends

As time rises again.

Deborah’s Poem

(or No Birds of Sadness Nesting Here)

Mrs. Rempel

Elementary School

Twas just weeks before June,

when all through my mind

The thoughts were all scrambled

As I struggled to find

Words to express

concern and some care

That come the fall breezes,

Deb would not be there.

The children and parents

with love in their heads

Have visions of teachers

Some fears and some dreads.

What will it be like?

Who will I get?

Is this the year

That we will regret?

Then smiles soon appear

Heads turn and chatter

Everyone racing

Creating such patter.

Children, their parents,

All now unleashed

“It’s Mrs. Polistena!”

and fears are soon dashed.

And each year we stand

in the September glow

Supporting the throngs

waiting to grow.

In what

to our wondering eyes

will appear

Quick transformations

In such a brief year.

So what will they miss

These new groups ahead?

When in retirement, her classroom,

Holds another instead?

The list runs aplenty

So full and expanse

Omissions may happen!

Inadvertent! By chance!

As dry leaves before

the wild hurricane fly

Capture your interest

as they dance by

Yet stay in your memory

and can be recalled

Each detail, and setting,

the large and the small

The knowledge she passes

To them; not just facts

Seems import, vital

So interest attracts.

With intelligence and wit,

She soon fills the days

With laughter and joking

And mischievous plays

The books that she shares

have treasures so deep

That inside your heart

and mind they will keep.

Reciting her stories

silly, solid and strong

Set fire for reading

Lasting lifelong.

The games that she’s played,

To help them remember

Curriculum covered

Reigniting embers!

And then whipping up crafts

(Erasing chagrin)

These are the memories

She places within.

And what of those lucky

Who happen to be

Working aside her

What do they see?

Her mastery astounds

When colleagues inquire

And energy abounds

Soon to inspire

Her eyes-- how they twinkle--

As she details the scheme

One is left to remark

On that mind so keen!

And, I, one,

so lucky to know

Spent part of my life

Absorbing the glow

Watching and learning

And getting so heady

Sharing the classroom

And seeing already

The wonder of how

One person could be

Munificent, whimsical,

sincerely gutsy !

In the midst of my cheering

Let me hasten to add

We have been through a lot

The good and the bad.

Sentiments, losses,

The quiet, the loud,

weddings, and babies,

and promises vowed,

Happiness, laughter,

The twist of a head,

Anthems and hands up,

The day that you bled!

Today as you leave here

In the warm June air

No birds of sadness

nesting in hair

Happiness blooming

on the faces about

“Good luck!” and “Best wishes!”

they all want to shout.

Soft whispers from friends

Quite an array:

“Enjoy your new life

as you start it today!”

And all of those here

Are gathered to extend:

“This is a beginning

as well as an end.”

In all of the phrases, refrains,

and their hue,

I will end my thoughts

with a simple,

“Thank you.”

Know that I treasure

And firmly believe

In all that I’ve writ here

And watching you leave

Can only be joyous

At what providence holds

Knowing friendships continue

As lives unfold.

Congratulations, My Dear Friend!

Love, Mary Ann

These Trees