I was in High School, unusual for me
And there was a teacher who,
When the first feelings of spring went up for bid,
Allowed us to go outside, where, under a tree
We listened to her unassuming classroom voice,
Take form of angel's wings

I could feel tiny needles of new, cleaner sun
Atop my arms and legs
And my brow was cool, held by gentle breeze
I lie there under that poet tree knowing
That if I never moved, I was happy
And I'd always remember her

As I succumbed to my dream-like state,
Her voice sparkled a million tiny bubbles
Like champagne for a little boy's soul,
She seduced me with her up-close voice
She read aloud from The Wind In The Willows
Knowing well we were all just kids

She wasn't a poet, so she seemed, but a teacher
I don't know where she is today
I ride high, though, on waves of cherish
Brought on by reddening spring
I wonder, does she remember that tree
And the student with the perfect grade?

Keith Parsons

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/underneath-the-poet-tree/