Some sounds cannot communicate,
Frustration writ upon her face,
One in class of only eight.
Disability, no disgrace.
His features formed in such a way,
Some may shun, avoid,
But hugs and cuddles and to play
Wants this gorgeous little boy.
Others too, though less severe,
Outwith my thirty years.
One day spent with angels who
Reduced my heart to tears.
They taught me more compassion
In the hours I spent with them.
For me, a timely lesson
In a different sort of pain.
A superior sort of knowing
In singular children who
Require some special teaching.
All involved, so extraordinary. And I bow to you.
scottishmomus 