I worry for my mother
What if she doesn’t return?
There are so many perils in our world
What will it be?
A rifle, a handgun, an automatic?
There are so many innocent lives to protect
In her line of work, they’re on the news;
They’re dead and dead and heroes
It’s a hard and noble job;
I’m always proud to answer when people ask me what my mother does
But it shouldn’t be so dangerous, I think;
And they should be so much better paid
“What does your mother do?” they ask
I tell them, “She teaches the third grade.”