An ideal teacher is idle never,
hardly violent and silent ever,
though the heart is even gloomy,
always on her face is glory.
In the soil of growing minds
sows she knowledge-seeds in time,
unfurls the flag of grand slam
when with victory her pupils bloom.
Grow, her pupils in her holiness,
and dims the sorrows, her own calmness.
Their wards merrily fly in the sky
And the parents hold their heads high,
A loving friend of all their
colleagues,
a loving mother of the ones, she
guides.
The horrendous word
‘quarrel’,
has no road in her mind to travel.
Her selfless ‘self’ has fabulous
wealth,
a hearty heart for the child she
helps.
The saving she has in her account
is her bond with warmth profound.
Children of all ages revere her much
as she is there to clear their hitch.
Heavy-felt subjects turn so light,
by the teacher’s tongue so sweet.
‘Great’ is the gift the parents
award,
indeed worthier than any reward.
‘Honesty’ necklace they manufacture
for her neck that tames them to scholars.
Though her hair in years gets
grey,
remains her hand in work, evergreen.
Rays of the smile appearing on the
lips,
wipe off the young ones’ all lapses.
The voice is quite smooth and soft,
yet very firm and solid and smart.
Never she spares any rod in class,
that may spoil a child, alas!
Clouds of troubles in the life of personal,
affect in no way her duty official.
When she opens her safe of
experience,
Enjoy she can, her hard work’s price.
