So, I'm the first one in again, with the quiet and the window growing snow. When I hear the furnace rouse itself from its slumber, somehow suddenly I know, as my eye stops on one curled up in my lesson plan that I'm just your little ampersand.
When your voice springs from the intercom with announcements, and reminders, and a prayer, I remember how you made me feel. I was funny, I was thoughtful, I was rare. But like the jokes about my figure kids think that I don't understand I know I'm just your little ampersand.
After Christmas holiday you never asked to drive me home again. Sometimes in the staff room I catch your eye with "why'd it have to end?" But I know from how you worry at your wedding band that I'm just your little ampersand.
At the last conjunction after every other and I was just your little ampersand.