Teach

Snow-dusted,
he stepped into the yawning silence
at the front of the classroom
where students, slumped at desks,
dutifully waited,
dreaming of Saturday.
He paused,
aware of the phalanx of uninterest,
then climbed up on the desk
and sang.
The snow melted,
wetting his hair,
dripping down his face
like tears,
as this marvel unfurled.
After all these years
I don't remember what song it was,
perhaps something from Shakespeare,
or Gilbert and Sullivan.
But this remains,
this passion, this ardor
filling a man's whole being,
who would
teach
not knowledge, not history,
not formulas nor facts,
but joy.

--Timothy Haut, Feb. 29, 2016