The Power of the Poem: An Ode to English Teachers

What am I, of numbered lines,

That graced your life today?

Short and stale that snores of spiels,

Dull words are on display

The beginning is a whisper

That calls to open minds.

Sticky, gray clay to shape,

The story is designed.

The middle is a scream

That warns the turn of tide.

Booming, sharp notes of song,

The story is in stride.

The ending is a sigh

That breathes the soft reply.

Heavy eyes flutter shut,

The story says goodbye.                                

What am I, a thousand thoughts,

That graced your life today?

Rapt and rich that rhymes of risk,

Great words refuse to stray

So when they teach of poems,

Their words to us are dear.

Teachers make the words to mean

That art is not to fear.