"No more lessons,
No more books,
No more teacher's,
Cross-eyed looks."

Then the kids went out to play
Ready for their holiday.
Youthful voices - shouts of glee,
One would think from prison freed.

Wearied teachers heaved their sighs,
Packed their tools - bade their good-byes.
Ev'ry soul went home to someone,
But Miss Fossum - she had no one.

Devoted, dedicated soul,
Imparting knowledge, her prime goal.
Perhaps to stir - perhaps, inspire,
No private fame did she desire.

A thankless job, so many said,
No way for one to get ahead.
At times Miss Fossum did despair,
She almost left to go elsewhere.

Unacknowledged, oft distressed,
Sometimes discouraged, sorely stressed.
Yet there was something deep inside,
That kept her teaching spirit alive.

Holiday time - last day of school,
Unthinking kids can be so cruel.
Dull summer looming - why return?
Is there no child that wants to learn?

Why should she take it - try to cope?
What keeps her going - gives her hope?
Then, one small voice, one shy look,
"Miss Fossum, may I keep my book?"

Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
© Copyright 2000