Rowan

My poetry started at a very young age,

In my sixth grade class scribiling rymes on a page.

What’s funny is that back then, I would call them raps.

It is funny to see how creativity adapts

I took a break after that, call it the middle school drought

But it sparked up again, after I heard my dad shout,

“It’s your mom’s birthday Rowan, you can’t sleep till noon!

She’s opening presents, and we’re waiting on you!”

Like a lightning bolt from clouds, I sprang out of bed

And started scratching on paper a poem I had in my head

I wrote a lovely-dovey poem for the mother I cherished

Then she gave me a kiss, and I got a little embarrassed

After that hectic morning, it became a routine

Every christmas, every Mother's day, she got a poem from me

Year after year, my poems filled up the shelf,

But apart from those gifts, I didn’t write much else

However, this year for fun I wrote a cute little tale

About a silly sad peach and a nice wise old snail

Instantly I became hooked and I never could quit

Writing cute little tales for the sole fun of it

And hopefully soon I can learn how to draw

So I can turn my poems into kids books for all