….the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.  (Walt Whitman)

 

~

And where are you now

my frolicsome friend,

under my boot-heels

    in grass?

 

I know.  You said.

You’d always be there,

in the leaf of a page,

    turning fast.

 

Teaching while turning,

coy-fully punning;

thou wert of teachers, the teacher,

    the best.

 

Mockingly manning,

feminine panning,

from New York, to the South,

    and out West.

 

Of heavenly bodies

the astronomer speaking;

the blather, the babble, the blab

     of the streets,

 

my teacher lovingly

celebrates.

Atom to atom, a spear of sparse grass,

gone, but good help,

    none the less.

 

The hawk that you met,

the places you slept,

the ferry you crossed –

    all left!

 

Gone!  Gone!

But still here in song;

my teacher, my friend,

‘till my life, too, ends.

 

Oh teacher! who wove

leaves of grass.

 

 

 

revised 6 May 2013

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn

http://www.tinkwelborn.me