If my book were a child,
I would think it most darling
for nudging me with ideas while only
half-conceived.
“I hope you look like me,”
I would tell it with fondness.
For this unborn book would carry my name.
And if my book were a child,
I would think it most naughty
for exerting a will of its own while only a
young draft.
“Who taught you such sass?”
I would demand with a threat.
For it was putting its author and her wits to shame.
And if my book were a child,
I would think it most stubborn
for taking on a life and a look of its own
But if my book were a child,
I would be most proud
for what it became and what it helped me become.
What projects of yours have become like children to you?
How have they helped you grow?
Got kids? Grandkids? Nieces and nephews?
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