WHOSE CHILD IS THIS?
"Whose child is this?" I asked one day
Seeing a little one out at play
"Mine", said the parent with a tender smile
"Mine to keep a little while
To bathe his hands and comb his hair
To tell him what he is to wear
To prepare him that he may always be good
And each day do the things he should"
"Whose child is this?" I asked again
As the door opened and someone came in
"Mine", said the teacher with the same tender smile
"Mine, to keep just for a little while
To teach him how to be gentle and kind
To train and direct his dear little mind
To help him live by every rule
And get the best he can from school"
"Whose child is this?" I ask once more
Just as the little one entered the door
"Ours" said the parent and the teacher as they smiled
And each took the hand of the little child
"Ours to love and train together
Ours this blessed task forever."
By Cleo V. Swarat
I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there,
The clay they used was a young child’s mind
And they fashioned it with care.
One was a teacher:
the tools she used were books and music and art;
One was a parent
With a guiding hand and gentle loving heart.
And when at last their work was done,
They were proud of what they had wrought.
For the things they had worked into the child
Could never be sold or bought!
And each agreed she would have failed
if she had worked alone.
For behind the parent stood the school,
and behind the teacher stood the home!
A Loving Teacher
by Pat McClain
Things our grown-up mind defies
Appear as giants in children's eyes.
A gentle touch upon her head
A simple word when kindly said.
Complete attention when she calls.
Her knowing you have given all.
Correcting in a loving way.
Instilling trust in what you say.
Making her believe unique
The tiny flaw upon her cheek.
Admiring old and faded dresses.
Reminding her we all make messes.
Words of comfort you've softly spoken
A promise you've made she knows won't be broken.
Your knowing her doll that was lost today
Is just as important as bills you can't pay.
Helping make her plans and schemes
Giving her hope and building her dreams.
All of this and so much more
Is in her mind forever stored.
They who touch her life awhile
Can either make or break that child.
Education is important, true,
But so much more, her faith in you.
You've weathered through the storm and strife;
You helped to build a small girl's life.
You're truly one to be admired.
For you gave more than was required.
Tribute To A Teacher
by Myrna Beth Lambert
We held their hands the first day of school.
Our hearts were filled with pride.
There was an aura of fear and apprehension
As we stood close to their side.
We deposited our children at your door,
Our most precious and prized possessions.
We trusted that you would give them more
Then Reading and Writing lessons.
Our unspoken words were, give them self worth.
They are little children, respect their rights.
Teach them with love and remember compassion.
Use a firm hand to break up their fights.
As the years went by, you did us proud
With your guiding hand and understanding smile.
You gave much more then we expected.
That was your way, your undeniable style.
What higher tribute can we pay a teacher?
To what greater heights can he ascend?
Than to have his students praise his work,
And to say "He is my friend."
You Are My Special Teacher
You are my special teacher
I just want you to know
I always had fun in your class
How the time has flown!
Thank you for helping me
To learn all that I know
I will always remember you
Even when I'm grown!
I'll miss you being my teacher
I know the reason why
I am feeling very sad
Because it's time to say goodbye
When You Thought I Wasn’t Looking
by Mary Rita Schilke Korzan
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you displayed my first report, and I wanted to do another.
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you fed a stray cat, and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you gave me a sticker, and I knew that things were special things.
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you put your arm around me, and I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn’t looking I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt--but that it’s all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you smiled, and it made me want to look that pretty too.
When you thought I wasn’t looking, you cared, and I wanted to be everything I could be.
When you thought I wasn’t looking--I looked...and wanted to say thanks for all those things you did when you thought I wasn’t looking.
Where do all the teachers go?
by Peter Dixon
Where do all the teachers go
When its four o’clock?
Do they live in houses
And do they wash their socks?
Do they wear pajamas?
And do they watch TV?
And do they pick their noses
The same as you and me?
Do they live with other people
Have they mums and dads?
And were they ever children
And were they ever bad?
Did they ever, never spell right
Did they ever make mistakes?
Were they punished in the corner
If they pinched the chocolate flakes?
Did they ever lose their hymn books
Did they ever leave their greens?
Did they ever scribble on the desktop
Did they wear old dirty jeans?
I’ll follow one back home today
I’ll find out what they do
Then I’ll put it in a poem
That they can read to you.