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Teaching is a thousand things,

like grains of sand that sift and fall.

You could try,

but you could never name them all.

It’s the pull of the little hand

that reaches for you down the hall,

The smiles and laughs and cards and gifts,

the parent who takes the time to call.

It’s the days when the sun is shining,

and it’s the days of rain and gloom,

It’s that no matter what, a child finds a home

every day in your classroom.

It’s the sleepless nights of worry

for the child who showed up bruised,

You want them all safe and happy,

but know that kids don’t get to choose.

It’s more than letters and numbers,

it’s more than homework and assessment,

It’s change, it’s growth, it’s celebration,

it’s time and lives well spent.

It’s happiness for those who had a chance to grow up,

to succeed, and to come back to visit,

And it’s heartbreak and emptiness for those who passed away early,

and there was nothing you could do to fix it.

Teaching is a thousand things,

that shape who we all become.

A great profession, still to be admired,

that’s led with a legacy of love.

A thousand things,

a thousand dreams,

a thousand hopes,

for a future unseen.

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