When I Grow Up...

When I grow up... I'd say at 5 plus 2

I had decided what I would do

I'd write a book that was a gem

In fact, I'd write not one but two

My favorite redheaded snippet

was Anne of green green gables

And then there was that Pip- it

seemed that I loved Dickens

How I cried for Tiny Tim

The words were ripe for pickin'

What a yarn that man can spin!

I'd delight at Little Women

I loved every Fairy Tale

The Musicians in old Bremen

Never, ever got too stale

And I was sure to outwrite Steinbeck

oh how I hated Lenny

I didn't think of future paychecks

I'd live from mouth to penny

But as I grew but older

I lost something deep inside

It grew not hot but colder

I didn't feed it and it died

You see, like Tink in Peter Pan

I need clapping to survive

I need confidence and Neverland

A place to find my stride

Can these fingers still go find it?

That story that's within

If I give it magic 

Will it live from mind to pen?

I know I'll never write a Harry

I'm not at all like blonde J.K.

But maybe a Diana Barry

will be my muse to pave my way

I see sleepless nights and old tea cups

I really am a fighter

Because I still believe when I grow up

I'll be a famous writer