To you who bestow on us knowledge,

with the hope that one kernel will hold

and pop someday, when we’ve lost our way,

why that is a gift of gold.

To you who take pleasure in beauty and truth,

so that we may parrot your speech

growing into our tongue, to gift that which was sung

why then, we will know of your reach.

To you who were kind when expressions were blank

and yet you still trudged through the snow,

of not being told some were grateful for gold

it was then that some learned of your glow.

As winter is needed for spring to come forth,

so too is the teacher who sings

in cages so tight,

where knowledge as bright,

gives flight to the frailest of wings.

May one such as you never give up the hope,

that birds will fly out and fly back

to gift you the kernel, in rhythms diurnal

and plant the sweet song from your track.

-Amy Struthers

(Image by: Jerry Wang)


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