Who are these people in front of me
Sitting in an atmosphere of quiet concern
Coming early to hear some strain of wisdom
Or to work within these walls of ivy
Early in the year they are tense with fright
Because of the sober discussions of safety and sight
Later they begin to loosen their tongues
As they imitate that strange figure who leads the way
Some professors call them students of theirs
But I can only call them teachers of mine.

Each is different in thought and dream
And yet, they are so similar in many ways
They come apprehensive and yet eager to see
What they can learn or add to their degrees
Determined to succeed and do everything right
Finding there strength to overcome burdens both strenuous and slight
They show me more than comes out of any book
With their feelings, irritations, considerations and looks
Yes, some professors can only call them students of theirs
But I see each of them as a teacher of mine.