Every one of them

. . taught us, learned with us.


This poem, The Yoke, is by a teacher, 
Frank Bidart. 
I'm going to take it.

don't worry   I know you're dead
but tonight


turn your face again
toward me


when I hear your voice there is now
no direction in which to turn


I sleep and wake and wake and sleep and wake and


but tonight
turn your face again


toward me


see   upon my shoulders is the yoke
that is not a yoke


don't worry   I know you're dead
but tonight


turn your face again