My mother was crying                                                                                                                          don't cry mother, I'll tell you something that will make you happy                                                             I looked up her through hopeful eyes, and made her that promise                                                          I saw my father write her cards and she smiled when she reread them                                             I let go of her  stomach and scrambled up the stairs                                                                                 I fell twice, but I was not deterred                                                                                                              I found my favorite Poo Bear paper and my favorite cat pen with the sparkly gel                                  And I wrote her something I deemed to be unforgettable                                                                      and the best thing I could dream up to stop her tears                                                                                 I said to her in my crabbed, spiked little scrawl                                                                                                                                                              Why hello sun, I love to play all morning!                                                                                              Outside in the dirt when it's bright, Inside when it's rainy                                                                        we wave at cars and I wave at momy and we play all day                                                                        until I say Goodnight moon!  See you tomorrow!                                                                                                                                                     But it all means nothing if my momy is not happy.                                                                             And when she read it, she dried her tears for me, then she cried even more.                             But now she smiled as the tears fell pleasantly around her face,                                                              I knew I had done well.                                                                                                                         She put my piece in a little folder in her drawer by her bed which read "Suzanna's Poetry"                  and then I realized at age 6, that I was a poet. And one day, I could be a real poet.                              As I grow and write, I realized I make poetry happen because I simply like to make people stop crying.