Wander down a country road Flowers in your hair Dance inside your living room Without a single care Wish upon a shooting star Or say a sacred prayer Live your life with pure delight Lay your true self bare
Lightning bugs Fairy wings Eyelash wishes Magical things Puffy clouds up in the sky Shifting dreams just passing by Daydreams spinning round young heads Sweet dream wishes for their beds Storyteller's well worn seat Children sitting at their feet Wonderment in every eye Silent tears for sad goodbyes Weave for them a strange new world And embed it in the heart of a girl Or a boy who's heart still dreams Of mythic heroes or vicious fiends In the core of every child Lives possibility fresh and wild A precious gift within each heart Inspirations from which grows art
'Twas a week before midterm, when all through the house One student was cramming - Eek Gods! There's a mouse!! Relief! Not a mouse Just my eyes playing tricks Now, I guess I can put down this giant beef stick "Why do you hold a beef stick?" you ask It's fuel for my brain while I'm cramming for class Drat! I have drifted from the tale to be told I blame the coffee I think it's grown mold
Now nestle yourself down for a time I'll put on fresh coffee and tell you a rhyme I'll tell you a tale of a student you've got... No more digression! Now back to the plot!
So yes, she was cramming I started to say So that by her efforts she'd earn her an "A" An "A"! Yes, I said it Do not be surprised This tale was created by one who's quite wise An "A" is impressive A well worthy grade But what had she done that she an "A" made? A very good question, my pondering friend But settle yourself and don't jump to the end Now confidence often eluded her grasp Writing, however, was her favorite task
Poetry, prose, and free verse pleased her best Then writing on topics of interest next The projects that tore at her brain in the night Were things she found boring or just did not like But wordsmith, she was, and was up to the challenge To muster her will and from her head scavenge The words and ideas, and like clay in her hands Shape them and mold them to topic and plans With thesaurus and dictionary at her side On her word crafting skills, she did hang her pride
So with effort and skill - and talent there, too She crafted her papers 'til ready to view With knots in her stomach that came with the trade She waited for feedback But mostly her grade The feedback she loved since it helped or assured But although it helped it lacked the allure That a high ranking paper - yes! Better than the last Served as her marker to push her through class
Neither science nor math held place in her heart The crafting of language was her favorite art Like brush strokes on canvas With her words she could paint An ominous sky or a barren landscape The sorrowful wilting of summer's last leaf Or the rising sun blanching the sand with its heat An insignificant sliver of silver moonlight That with its dull beam, still pierces the night This was her art, her joy, and her passion She only needed a pen to take action
And so she does cram her mind with the best That literature's scholars hold close to their breast Taking examples from word choice and plot She studies the masters with every thought She hopes that one day she, too, might be read In a book by some students, long after she's dead
And now to the end of my tale, I have come A few more smart lines, and then I am done An "A" she did earn, and now you see why This student was good, I will not belie She was not perfect Of course not! No way! But if she keeps writing Perhaps so one day
So home with yourself now, it's late and I'm tired The page, now, will wait 'til I'm next inspired There is one last wish as I show you out To Teacher from the student that this is about Happy grading to you, as red pens take their flight And to you I do wish a very good write!
Sometimes when I lay down my head All tucked up tight upon my bed I drift and float and start to dream Cascades of words just like a stream I wonder at this gift of mine Delighted I can dream in rhyme No two dreams are quite the same My poet's mind did birth this game Though rhyming dreams are often fun It's time to call this poem done.
Words Wishes and Wisdom 