-- VOICES OF STUDENTS PAST --

John Herlihy

I hear the myriad voices of my students, they echo still;

They come of their own volition, with their own free will.

How they whisper and shout, they argue, complain, taunt;

They still roam corridors of my mind as ghosts who haunt.

The first day to enter a classroom, I felt sheer terror;

Their youthful eyes watched as I made my first error.

Can you do the job, I was asked, by the sprightly nun?

Sure, I said with aplomb, fearful finesse next to none.

I hear the myriad voices of my students, they echo still;

They come of their own volition, with their own free will.

They beg, they plead, they cajole, all for a better grade;

I sit quiet in judgment, a grand patriarch, feeling staid.

Years passed quickly as I moved thru many a classroom,

To sweep any residue of ignorance with my trusty broom.

Some of the students were careless with feelings hateful;

 Other students appreciate my effort with feelings grateful.

I hear the myriad voices of my students, they echo still;

They come of their own volition, with their own free will.

They thank me with their kind words, fill me with praise;

They understood that it was important my heart to raise.

The students gathered, the years mounted into a vast hill;

This what I have built, I thought to myself, memories still.

To become old but to stay young giving one’s heart away;

My students still look at me fondly as I have my final say.

I hear the myriad voices of my students, they echo still;

They come of their own volition, with their own free will.

Jonathan became a doctor, MaryJane became a nurse;

Albert now a famous lawyer, Bernice writes poetic verse.

The day approaches when I will lay down chalk and pen,

Even with eager students still waiting as way back when.

They look at me, they look away, then finally they wonder;

They too hear a distant voice that still resonates as thunder.

I hear the myriad voices of my students, they echo still;

They come of their own volition, with their own free will.

A lifetime of pedagogy that no one could ever take away;

To climb that mountain and enter class as on the first day.

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(c) John Herlihy 22 March 2019