Wounded Bloom

In the quiet moments of dawn's embrace,

A truth unfolds, leaving no trace.

The classroom of life,

a homebound start,

Where the seeds of wisdom,

we must impart.

The difficult task, not in textbooks bound,

But in the echoes of our voices,

profound.

It begins at home,

a sacred ground,

Where life's greatest lessons

are often found.

As poets, philosophers, and romantics,

we say,

The art of teaching begins

each day.

In the tender hands of our children,

we mold,

The fundamentals of life,

more precious than gold.

With patience and love,

we sow the seeds,

Of kindness, courage, and noble deeds.

Not just equations, history,

or geography,

But the essence of humanity,

morality. (yeah)

Let our teachings be

a guiding light,

A beacon for them,

in the darkest night.

To stride through school with heads held high,

Fueled by the values we've etched in the sky.

For in every word,

in every embrace, Resides

the power to shape the future's grace.

We teach not just to pass the test,

But to navigate life's journey with zest.

So, parents, philosophers, in wisdom arrayed,

Let home be the cradle where virtues are laid.

In the symphony of love,

let our kids partake,

And in the grand theater of life,

their own stories make. (mmm)