In the realm of chalk and whispered dreams, Where wisdom flows like gentle streams, There stands a guide with eyes so bright, Maam Abi, our beacon of light. Forgive our antics and restless chatter, The paper airplanes and carefree clatter. We were young, with spirits high, Chasing clouds in the azure sky. Yet in those moments wild and free, You molded the best in me, With patience deep and endless grace, You held a mirror to life's true face. Thank you, dear teacher, for sacrifice, For weaving lessons, rare and precise. In halls where knowledge takes its flight, You are the voice that turns on the light.