When you make
Your Teacher wait,
If he’s been standing,
Knocking at your door,
At the appointed hour
Of your lesson, whilst
You slept, oblivious,
To the coming of dawn,
And then, upon waking,
With a start, to bird sounds,
To yourself, to your Teacher
At the door, running down,
Hoping to find, he is still around,
Sorry, so terribly sorry,
To have slept away,
Those precious moments,
When he’s the light
By which you find yourself.