A Teacher Poem by James McLain

Why is her worth demeaned?
Is it her worth,
so mismanaged by others?
Some are short, to the point!
While others,
rush over every syllabus,
slowly excitingly,
treating every last day first.
Nuns always trembled it, humbled it,
made it speak all her words of it...
bound in miles of sail, home in it......
Pi nicks found in lunches pails, her books.
Her looks more than once,
flustered the pace,
my snails outlook chalk is boards.
So blushed on the buff,
ears always red for days.
Thank god,
are the girls that tutored with it every day.
There smiles lashed at ships to dreams,
in years, recalled, in winks.