Mrs. Maple
Mrs. Maple
Hair in a bun
Gray and wiry
Combed with same comb
For the past decade
Pulled back in same bun
For the past three decades
Dressed in one of what seemed
Like a few thousand different dresses
Every one colorful
Every one with a different pattern
Animals and holidays, flowers and shapes
Ever catching the little eyes
Of her pupils
Eyes donned crow’s feet
A lifetime of smiles left their mark
Etched in her checks
Her face so kind
Her eyes so blue
Her voice so soft
To her son’s she was mother
To her husband she was Nancy
But to hundreds of small children
She was Mrs. Maple
Little hands lifted in the air
Never going unnoticed
Little hearts so easily hurt
Never going un-mended
Her classroom was just as interesting
As interesting as her
Every December there were lights and cookies and a tree
Every October candy and pumpkins and masks to be made
And every June dozens of cards all over the room
Saying “Happy Birthday Mrs. Maple”
And “We Love You”
All written in the finest crayon and squiggled penmanship
She was more than a teacher
She was more than a mentor
She was Mrs. Maple