Teacher, should anyone write your story,
It would be most properly told this way;
You live the life of a missionary,
Serving as the light of humanity.
You leave your humble cot at break of day,
The distant school is your destiny;
Bearing the burden of responsibility,
Which thy noble profession has placed on thee.
A caring shepherd to some forty strong,
You commence the day with the national song;
Then let your brood pick up some trash for not so long,
Watching that the naughty ones may not do wrong.
When you are through tidying up the ground,
So it would be safe for kids to roam around;
Into the classroom you are promptly bound,
Everyone accounted for safe and sound.
Before everything else, the Lord you praise,
Letting the children recite their prayers with ease;
Touching each young mind with simple grace,
Impressing God's image through time and space.
Like an angel with invisible wings,
You candidly smile to each child who sings;
Then, with good manners imbue the young little things,
Telling them of the joy a "Please" or "Thank you" brings.
Before your class, you are the superstar,
Each flip of your finger is magic from afar;
As you discuss all topics, from love to war,
With awe and wonder, children's ears stand like a radar.
When a prodigal one strays from the fold,
Not with hateful anger, you wisely scold;
For all that you intend is but to mould,
All children, into men with hearts of gold.
Like the gentle showers that drench the land,
You quench learners' thirst with your magic wand;
Framing letters A to Z with your hand,
The hyloplate and chalk at your command.
You are the artist who can describe in lines thin or wide,
The beauty and secrets that beyond the sunset hide;
And the scientist too, that can explain the tide,
Or, unfold the mystery of the world outside.
You're the agriculturist who trains every hand,
To exploit and nurture the gift of the land;
But a great choreographer when you danced,
And re-echo Beethoven's music like a band.
Children's progress, you note with vigilance,
The weak and the slow, you give a fair chance;
Never failing to give due allowance,
To shortcomings brought about by ignorance.
Remedial measures, you efficiently give,
In the improbability of man, you believe;
With perseverance, you polish till you achieve,
Targets, with which no remuneration you receive.
Never did you chatter and prattle,
Nor bragged of any unfought battle;
You busied your day with a hustle,
Researching from pages that crackle.
You rush to the clinic a hurt first grader,
As one like a doctor, nurse or first aider;
You're nothing less than a crutch to a toddler,
Coaching each little one to grow a bit bolder.
You depart your workshop at close of day,
With mind focused at the community;
As with the young, you try to deliver the old from illiteracy,
Aside from classroom load, you break your back with NFE.
When you reach home, the children are ready for bed,
They know you always come late so they dine ahead;
They understand your work for to them you said,
The home and the school, both you have wed.
Weary with toil, you haste yourself to sleep,
Knowing that soon, another morn shall creep;
And back to school, in a hurry you will leap,
For a vow of loyalty to service you must keep.
All these you do from year to year,
From June to March you labor till you wear;
The laws of morality you always adhere,
To meet people's eyes, you have no fear.
Come Election Day, throughout the country,
Stoic as a Spartan, you guard the ballots' sanctity;
To justice, clings steadfast your loyalty,
Even if, "Goodbye to life," you must say.
And to the village folks, you are fondly,
Their great Cicero or attorney;
You are the healer, preacher or the M.C.,
With services gratis et amore.
Ah! Teacher--- your breed had sprung unto this earth,
Even ahead of the Greatest Teacher's birth;
Time and again you have proven your worth,
Mankind hails you as the goddess of the hearth.
You served humanity beyond duty's call,
Through all the centuries, nations great and small;
You have counseled the wise and the humble,
Artist, doctors, sailors--- you made them all!
You are the silent brand, unsung hero,
Yet, laurels nor golden crown will not do;
For no reward can ever be so true,
Than with all our love, we will see you through!
by: Maria Luisa Tejero Torrento
