Morning snow falls,
He rises from his bed
And brushes his teeth,
bare feet cold on the hardwood floor.
his students scuffle and shuffle
through the drifts
to the schoolhouse
where icicles grow on eaves.
He reads in Jeremiah,
prepares the lesson plan,
and pulls on his boots.
innocent eyes, And desires those eyes
to grow deep
and yet retain
their wide wonder.
He imparts and gains
knowledge and feeling in equal measure
to three grades.
They love his love of Shakespeare
His stories from the northern woods
And his jokes about the Presidents;
They revel in his love of God and language,
His leather voice
on gray afternoons . . .