My Pot of Gold

As most of us, forty-five years after high school, I can look back and see a teacher special to me. My hero was Ms Robinette, an artist and a friend. In the sixth-grade, she was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Golden Teacher
by Paticia Shipp Leib

Considering no odds
Nor tribulations, I trek a long trail
On leaving the halls of AHS
Searching a world of big city
And small town streets
Far removed
From my Texarkana
My Arkansas.

Unaware that words hidden in my mind
Will serve any real purpose,
And in so doing, bring light
To my life.

 My dream to write
Presses at my heart and soul.
I - Patricia ­
Certainly not the student
"Most likely to succeed."
Still, a handful of phrases,
Silent as myth,
Bring white horses in fairytale
Images to my Being, behold
Me and carry me onward
To dance in the arch
of the rainbow

Sixth grade teacher,
Ms Robinette is my "Pot Of Gold,"
Combing curls from my long brown hair
I am her homeroom
Milk Bowl Queen.
Embarrassed, I whine,
"I'm scared. I can't."
"Ah, but you can touch the rainbow
If you try."
I wear my teacher's words like a crown.
And I see the pink, blue, yellow jutting
In gusto.
And I touch the sparkling gold stones.

 On my news-reporting beat, I meet Apprehension and challenge.
But I hold the gold
Long and hard and intense,
And my eyes linger on the treasure,
Steady, and solid, and sure.
And I live my dream.

 I see her now, painting a yellow rose
On a handkerchief as blue as the sky.
I run into the mist, the sunlight
And I twirl in colors, in the blue,
The yellow, the gold, I fly-I fly:
I can touch the rainbow if I try