three boys and me,
is somewhat accidental,
but still
special, fraught, loving.
The school year ends,
our time does, too.
We gather together
as usual,
each of us knowing
this won't happen again.
I give them special problems,
they return effort;
we enjoy the struggle
for truth, and solutions.
When the time is up
we bravely share goodbyes.
I pick up the pieces,
leave the school, drive home.
Deep melancholy is
an unwelcome guest.
Dare I believe I'll find
a special set of kids
next year?
I do. I am comforted.
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