A poem by Glennice Harmon1 min read

They ask me why I teach
and I reply, “Where could I find more splendid company?”
There sits a statesman,
strong, unbiased, wise,
another later Webster
silver-tongued.
And there a doctor
whose quick, steady hand
can mend a bone or stem the lifeblood’s flow.
A builder sits beside him —
upward rise the arches of that church he builds wherein
that minister will speak the word of God,
and lead a stumbling soul to touch the Christ.

And all about
a lesser gathering
of farmers, merchants, teachers,
laborers, men
who work and vote and build
and plan and pray into a great tomorrow.
And, I say,
“I may not see the church,
or hear the word,
or eat the food their hands will grow.”
And yet — I may.
And later I may say,
“I knew the lad, and he was strong,
or weak, or kind, or proud
or bold or gay.
I knew him once,
but then he was a boy.”
They ask my why I teach and I reply,
“Where could I find more splendid company?”

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