I never have given this course the way I wanted to,

But every year it's a little better. Nearer.

I learn a little something myself, a few

New tricks of hitting harder, making it clearer.

Life, like a meal you eat, or a dream, or a visit,

Ends. No second chance, no change, no time for

Bettering what you can do on the day you do it.

Word in a poem there is no perfect rhyme for.

Teachers are blest. They can eat the dream again.

The very book I work from builds and brightens.

But, for you, this year with me is the only one,

And my hope to help, my need to teach you, tightens.

Do you understand my need? As I speak, I love you.

Later I'll vary that. I'll hate, pity, be bored,

I'll ache in your troubles, lecture a little above you,

Love you, and doubt by night what you're heading toward.

'You come and go, but this course goes on forever-'

If I believed that, I'd believe that what looks

From deep in your eyes, and speaks your name, is a lie.

Now there is work to be done. Open the books.