THE TEACHER

THE TEACHER (for Charles Causley)

Tweed-suited,
The teacher stood and waited.
Across the road
Behind curtains
Mother-drawn for privacy,
I would sneak-peek-
Then, seeing him
Would cross the road.
His gentle poet’s hand outstretched
Would guide me to the safer side.
Into a world of words
That coloured my life,
Infected my mind
And bled into a subconscious,
That would in turn,
bleed out
And form colours of their own
one day.
I was the clay, the empty canvas, the unwritten score.
He was the sculptor, the painter and composer.
He shaped my learning
For a future I could not for-see.
He was the teacher then,
As I am a teacher now.
He was the poet then,
As I am a poet now.
He was the tweed-suited teacher
Who stood and waited.