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
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"
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.