Before I put the poem down, I just would like to say that this is my third grade teacher's poem. She died in a car wreck during Christmas break last year. She will be missed.


Why am I here?

by Debbie Davis


Yesterday, I struggled

With why I'm really here.

My head hurt, I felt depressed;

There was no cheer.


I want to make a difference

In a life each day.

Side roads of life and distractions

Seem to get in the way.


Children learn best

When they are happy and feeling satisfied.

Sometimes our moods and emotions

Create situations where learning is denied.

It's a profession that I chose

After years of contemplation.

To teach a child, change a life

Is the foundation of our nation.


With paperwork, changing times

And a budget that cannot rise.

We lose track of priorities, why we are here

And we begin to compromise.


Compromise means giving up or giving in

Sometimes for improvement.

This is not for the better as I see it.

This is a negative movement.


Yes, we are all thankful for our jobs

And money in our pocket.

Money's not the issue here; education, a

child's future.

Is what's really on this docket.


Irritation and anger fill my soul

When I hear complaints.

Believe me, it is not because I think that

Teachers should be saints!


It's because when we chose this profession

As our life-long ambition

Were these thoughts of "how much more"

and "status"

Part of that commission?


No! I think not!

We had the students in our heart.

How we could best educate, illuminate

And play an integral part.


It all comes back to me in my reflection

Of why I'm really here.

I want the best for every child;

Each day throughout the year.



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