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Text of Poem

He cleans out the file and crams
the wastebasket with dog-eared hopes
stale as lecture notes and grade books.
He walks, from his desk to the door,
a path worn deep in time, turns the key—
a gardener at the end of his season.
He has worn his degrees like medals,
let them tarnish in the box of age.
He waves a brief hand at a bushy-tailed
young scholar busting his gut to find words
that will startle his first faculty meeting.

First Line
He cleans out the file and crams
Original Pub Location
Original Publication Date
Original Citation
National Retired Teachers Association Journal (July-Aug 1977) 19.
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