What Will You Be? (Poem)

“What will you be when you grow up?”
They asked when I was four.
Quickly I replied, “An artist.”
“Well, then you’ll be poor.”
This bothered me, but then I thought,
“I’ll love art all the more.”

“What will you be when you grow up?”
At twelve, they asked again.
“A musician,” was the fervent answer.
“Perhaps you will find fame.”
Do what you love, that’s what I thought
Whether or not they know my name.

“What will you be when you grow up?”
Was the whole point of the test.
My aptitude, as it turns out
Was for a botanist.
For books had inspired fascinated thought
On what each plant did best.

“What will you be when you grow up?”
They asked me at my prom.
“I’d love to be a wife and lover,
After that, a mom.”
“That’s your goal?!” they laughed at me.
I looked back with aplomb.

What did I become when I grew up?
I wonder as I sit.
An artist, yes, with paper and string,
I scrapbook and I knit
To record the lives of those I love
—My husband and my git.

A botanist? I have no plaque
To declare that I am one.
Yet constantly, I research what
Each kind of plant has done.
And how these plants can help the lives
Of each and every one.

A musician? Yes, I guess I am—
I studied it in college.
I write, I play, I even teach
To spread the love and knowledge.
Though fame may not be where I’m going.
At least creative passion is flowing.*

And after all those other things,
Those dreams that have come true,
There’s one more thing that I became
I said I’d never do.
I said I’d never be a teacher,
Yet when day is done
And I look at all the things I do
I’m teaching every one.

I teach my children how to live,
To magnify each day.
I teach others’ children how to improve
The music that they play.
I teach scrapbooking, I teach health tips,
I even teach crochet.
All this I did, and love what I do—
All this in spite of they.

*I realize this rhyme does not fit the form I had set, but did you know that the only other word that rhymes with college is acknowledge? Since I had already used knowledge, the close repetition of the word did not appeal to me.

Purists might ask why I did not change the rhyming word. Answer: I took artistic license. It’s my dang poem—I’ll change form mid-way if I want to, darnit!