Ode to my Kindy Teacherl

I was reading through posts again this morning and ran across one from Cyranny the last words (or maybe all the words) of which dragged back vague memories of a kindergarten teacher of mine from another century who spoke with no apparent direction but with playfulness and love. Perhaps my memories of her have become distorted with time. But does that matter?

How I wish I had known her

And not outgrown her

words that had clattered out

like a runaway train.

And wandered about

off the tracks again and again

only to return to where she had been

to the central theme

Which was love.

How I wish I had touched her

And somehow clutched her

simple truths

so recklessly painted

with her wild word

by rules untainted

And wonder how, now

She might still be heard

Speaking from above.

7 thoughts on “Ode to my Kindy Teacherl

    1. You make a valid point. It is a memory, to be sure, that has become hazy with time, though glowing brightly through that haze nonetheless. I may, indeed, have a few of the facts mixed up. She may have been a high school maths teacher or a university professor or maybe the checkout girl at Woolworths last Friday. No matter.


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