The Zimmer Man
As promised, here is the poem I wrote about Mr. Zimmerman back in 1996. Larry Zimmerman was my math teacher for two years in high school. I was hoping to find the list of verses that he compiled for us to consider, but I couldn't locate a copy in my files. I also took the liberty of changing the name of my poem to "The Zimmer Man" because it sounded weigh kewler than the original :)
The Zimmer Man
by PhLo
1996
I saw him walking down the hallway: perfect in his stride. The empty hallway: no one seen except this one and I. I saw his age in every hair and wrinkle on his face, But I could never call him old by looking at his pace. He walked a stoic walk that day, the day that first I saw. That balding head, that look of dread: a layer of the law. One cannot judge this man, for this describes his outer part. The outside never shows the truth which lives within the heart.
This man has wits; they have not left; he is a teacher still. He teaches us according to his knowledge and his will. At first he seemed a perfect man - except a stoic mien. But what's about to be described destroys all prior seen. As he was teaching Calculus, an error did he make. I watched with every part of me - Would he admit mistake? The room became so still; expression on his face was gone. The next event which happened leads me further, farther on.
With all that was within him he dropped pen and faced the room. His face at first expressed emotions absent - as a tomb. And then, as resurrected life, an upturned lip I saw A glorious smile, and all the while I truly was in awe. He joked about his error, and he did it in a way That no one in the room could keep from laughing on that day. A man was shown I'd never seen - He'd been there all along. I'd thought he was a stoic, but I could not be more wrong.
This man is kind; inside you'll find a heart of solid gold. A warmth is kindled in his heart: example to the cold. A student and a teacher: he is both to say the least. Not one can count the number of the students he has reached. He learns from God, his Father, and he teaches what he learns. He puts the Lord in every page of Calculus he turns. It seems as though he has a burden placed within his heart to teach, to reach a part of each; himself he will impart.
I see him walking down the hallway: perfect in his stride. The empty hallway: no one seen except this one and I. I see him not the same, however, as I saw him then. A stoic? No. His heart does show a happy man again. I see a man who smiles and find he whistles as he walks. The hallways cheer when he comes near: to them his whistle talks. I cannot stress the point enough that love can only trace The age that's found in every hair and wrinkle on his face.
