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.