The bongos played. Parents came and so did Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost and Christopher Marlowe and Langston Hughes and Paul Laurence Dunbar, and so many others.  Word by word, poet by poet, poetry came to life. Word by word, poetry was written in the air in the same way that sparklers write in the night. I loved the private ownership of a poem held ready in the heart of a child walking forward toward the stool.  I loved the celebration of poetry, of students, of parents and children, of writing, of third grade.  I loved watching parents and children moving around the room, cool jazz in the background, asking one another, “Do you have a poem in your pocket?”  Again and again, crumpled paper was pulled out, unfolded, and shared.

Tulips. Coffee.  Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.  Edible Words made by Lenny and her Mom.  It was part of our celebration.  To quote Kool and the Gang: “A celebration to last through the years.”

Over and over again:

“I wish April wasn’t over.  I love poetry month.”

Poetry will never be confined to one month of the year again for these children.  Some walked into Room 204 loving poetry in September; they were predisposed, but on Thursday, every child walked out of Room 204 as a poet and lover of poetry.   Poetry is theirs.  And that doesn’t change now that it is May.

There’s a party goin’ on right here

A celebration to last throughout the years

What’s next?  We have one final genre-study together.   We’ll study as readers and as writers (of course).   Would you like a hint? Can you guess?

The final unit of study will close with the same words which will end our year:

“And they lived happily ever after.”