Occasionally in the eyes of a student
I see the ghostly look of a much younger me
Those troubled and painful looks of despair and hurt
The reminders of adolescent self-reproach
I felt while dancing from the puppetmaster's string
An uncovered mauled and robbed young child’s self-esteem
The shy anti-social character of my youth
A life prematurely frightened and distorted
By the mirror of poverty and tragic death
As a teacher, I adore all of my children
But, there will always remain in my wounded heart
A special place for the child on the master’s thread
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
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