You go on and grow
Pay no mind to trails of tears
You created here
Ode To The Students & Those Who Want Them Well
We are silvering
We are not tinsel, flat
Nor tinny, shallow sound whose echoes won’t be known a year from now
We are, “Mr. Watson, come here. I want to see you.”
We are precious shine
Mined from the deep
Ribbons of pricelessness chiseled from someplace dark we’d entered into
Unknowingly, perhaps, but prepared nonetheless
Thence emerged, the metal of us hard-earned
We cannot be traded, bartered, or sold
We are made of this
We are made from this
Will they see us in next century’s sky?
Yes! And, ’til the 12th of Never
Canyons, ancient, will carry our collective voice
We are silvering, and are not second-place
Hope-ing: Our Haiku
Keep the hope, you must
Kind-hearted people told me
Now thus, I bid you
Surrounded: A Haiku
It is only truth
Such uncomfortable truth
Which comforts me now