The true connection is love

To the editor:

A few years ago I was a substitute teacher at Park View State School, which is a school for kids with physical and mental problems. At the end of the day I came home and sat down in front of my computer. The following poem just flowed out of me.

Interface

You come to teach us every day, but do you know we care?

We cannot talk. We cannot walk. We just sit and stare.

Sometimes you hear we are dying, and there is nothing you can do.

But when we go, we know we take a part of you.

Some say there is no interface, that things remain unsaid.

But I'm in you and you are in me, like a hand within a glove.

And, folks, there is an interface -- an interface called love.

BILL COOMER, Cape Girardeau