An Apple A Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a poem I wrote looking back on my 4th grade teacher. I really miss him because he understood me really well. He was the 1st teacher of mine that approved my writing and showed me better techniques. I remember after that year I went back to visit him and he had completely forgotten my class because he missed his wife so much that year. I admit he was old but still :( (The reason he would cry is because his wife died in an accident, she was biking and had broken her arm. Shortly after she died from the strain it had put on her.)

Submitted: November 02, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 02, 2011



Sitting on the desk is a new apple,

It next to the one before it, and so on,

A shattered soul, that was once a man,

Sits slumped behind it in the shadows,

Tosseling his short thin hair,

He turns away to hide his untreated sorrow.

The children have already noticed,

Though he tries to hide it still,

He feels weak and unfit for this place.

The young girls surround him, 

Boys encircle the group's edges,

They try to mend what has been busted, 

Knowing that his pain has again awoken,

They know not why he sheds a tear,

It has been about three years?!

They waste time trying to make him smile,

They should be writing poetry,

And they all know it,

But the kids all know what has to be done,

As they were taught,

A person is a person, 

You comfort the ones in need.

So they sit at his side wishing his pain away.

A new apple on his desk everyday, 

Each next to the one before it.

They sit and sit, day after day,

Like the mans dispair, the apples never quite went away,

The kids to this day remember the man,

How they would sit and wonder about him,

Now understanding the pain of loss,

Of a love,

Of a compainion,

And of the teacher they adored.

© Copyright 2018 Shimala. All rights reserved.

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