This poem was written for the retirement of Bernice's principal, who never liked me 
much at all. In fact, I got strong vibes she disliked me. But she loved Bernice and I 
think she was a good principal based on all Bernice said. So I wrote this poem, which 
Bernice read at her retirement dinner.

With few changes the poem is generic, as I intended.


                         Reflections on a Suburban School Day
                         To Vanessa Smith, Principal
                         Dorchester School, Woodcliff Lake


I'm on my way before the morn
The roads are dark, the school forlorn 
And when I switch my office light
I look outside and its still night 

Teachers arrive before the sun.
Preparing for each day of fun.
They beautify their rooms and yearn
To help the children grow and learn 

Six hundred children - even more
Come flitting past my office door
While I with smile watch them all
Pump life into the empty hall

No day runs as smooth as oil
Rapid growth mandates turmoil
Each day dragons must be slayed
Each wound needs the right band aid

Teachers come with ruffled feathers
Strained by legalistic tethers
Some kids they'd surely like to strangle
I guide them toward a gentler angle

Next is the nervous parents' turn
I mollify their deep concern
Showing how well their children fare
Under our expert, guiding care

I also sometimes feel great pain
And wish that I too could complain
But a principal must confide
In herself and bear grief inside.

Then give to each a hearty greeting 
Words to inspire ev'ry meeting
Write programs, proposals and reviews
Keeping abreast of all crucial news.

A principal's labors never cease
Sometimes nightfall won't bring release
But days are filled with unmeasured joys
Of delicious little girls and boys

They cry, they laugh, they graduate
And lucky that its been my fate
To help their minds light up on fire
When I see them I can't retire.

But ten years now I've run the school
I hope its been a golden rule
For me it's been a thrilling run.
No greater prize could e'er be won.

Postscript

So next year stop and think of me
When you're at work and I am free
And most of all I'd have you know
Oh, all the places I will go!

From
Bernice Rosenberg Gedzelman
Stanley David Gedzelman
Written 06 May 2003

But ten years now I've run the show
The time has come for me to go

Lounging in the topical air
Knowing that soon you'll join me there