(I had to write this for school. I figured I'd post it.)
Feeding print in finery
At the hypocenter of
Death-defying reality –
You feel the guilty casualty
Of a pounding, tender heart.
I, hear to whisper that no penned word is needless,
and no fruit of yours born seedless.
For we, so young and infantile
We know our words are not futile
Due to the wisdom and the wile,
Or the impetus or our art –
Educator, so sagacious,
Us apprentices now born on our idyllic starts
Thank you
