From time to time I come across something created by one of my children that just blows me away. Each of the kids has produced a song, a photograph, or a drawing that has displayed a talent I can't explain and am overwhelmed by. Now unlike other parents who might somehow overestimate the talent of their children, or boast and brag about even the slightest accomplishment, I've never been accused of such hyperbole.
The other day I came across a poem written by Clara Grace, and felt sure this was the germination of greatness. The poem talked of love and the angst of not being certain one is loved. I knew right away that one day, and one day soon, she would take her place along side the greats like Yeats, Byron, Keats, Blake, and dear Ole' Uncle Walt.
I went to her to ask what torments of a nine year old heart could bring about such profound languish and suffering. She informed me that it was not a poem at all but rather a song. What or who had been her muse I inquired. Turns out she was trying to right a song like the one she saw on the Naked Brothers Band.
Apparently Byron may be safe a bit longer.
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