Poem for Mrs. B

Who's line this is, I think I know,
She's probably teaching, tough
She will not hear me stopping here,
To fill her inbox to the brim.

My little phone must think it queer
To stop without a voicemail near
between the last number and beep
The best teacher of them all

It gives it's buzzer a little shake
to ask if there is some mistake
the only other sound's the beep
Of Mrs. [bisyllabic name]'s voicemail box.

Her voice is lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.