A writer in the making

For as long as I can remember I have been writing stuff.  Whether it was long, rambling stories about invisible people or dragons, silly poems, dark teenage "woe is me" type poems, or songs, I've just always written.  It's always been an outlet for me to kind of purge whatever is going on in my head.  I'm not here to talk about the quality of the stuff that was written, because that's another thing entirely.  But I am and always have been a writer or one who writes.... stuff. Anyway, I was just thinking about a poem that I wrote when I was about 9 or 10.  I'm guessing at the age but I know I wasn't older than ten because I remember writing it and I remember the house we lived in.  Anyway, it's kind of funny so I'll share it with you along with some preseng day commentary.  For some reason I'v never forgotten it.  Be kind.  This was written by a child.

Fall

Fall is full of leaves and soft, sweet gusts of wind.

Fall is full of happiness, laughs, and soft, sweet grins.  (Notice the soft, sweet usage)

Flowers are growing, people are gayly singing (I no longer use "gay" in this way)

all throughout the season.

I love Fall.  Everyone should.

And if not, you have no reason. (30 year old translation: you're an idiot if you don't like fall)

But as Fall slowly passes by, I'll just walk away and sigh.

There's nothing left for me to do

Except wait another year with you....  (So dramatic.  I guess I've always exaggerated my woes.)

Isn't that just one of the sweetest (and gayest) things you've ever read?  This was before my cynicism kicked in.  I was a big time rhymer until probably 14 years old or so.  I once rhymed cobbler with gobbler in a Thanksgiving poem.  So anyway, I just thought someone might get a kick out of that.... or not, whatever.