The First One Through the Door

He was the first one through my classroom door.Hand already up before I'd asked them why.I taught him everything. I should have taught him more.

He wrote the kind of essays I still storeand never told him, though I meant to try.He was the first one through my classroom door.

He left that June and didn't say before,a note the whole class passed, not knowing why.I taught him everything. I should have taught him more.

Now every soldier walking past the storecould be him, home, alive. I can't say why.He was the first one through my classroom door.

They say the letters never mention war,a joke that, even now, I can't deny.I taught him everything. I should have taught him more.

Some nights I grade the papers like before,and half expect his hand to catch my eye.He was the first one through my classroom door.I taught him everything. I should have taught him more.