I set out to write this poem and I had a simple plan. br I'd avoid all things prosaic and I'd do the best I can br To optimize the content and the grammar and the rhyme br And of course I'd tell a story that would echo for all time br br I thought about the subject and the role the hero played br But when I penned the verses then I saw the hero fade br I read my lines and wondered if all poets had the same br Misunderstanding with the words and felt a poet's shame br br I struggled with my concept and the form the poem took br Yet I doubt that you will ever see this poem in a book br For only I can understand the effort and the time br And a parent's love responsible for each and every line br br And so like children poems cause you happiness and pride br Or conversely they cause torment as you quiver deep inside br And yet I do still write them and some I think are fine br But some are just so terrible I wish they weren't mine.