When I was eight or nine years old,I wrote my first poem.My mother read the little poem and began to cry.“Buddy,youdidn’t really write this beautiful,beautiful poem!”Shyly,proud-bursting,I stammered that I did.My mother poured out herpraise.Why,this poem was nothing short of genius!I glowed.“What time will Father be home?”I asked.I couldhardly wait to show him what I had accomplished.My mother When I was eight or nine years old, I wrote my first poem. My mother read the little poem and began to cry. “Buddy, youdidn’t really write this beautiful, beautiful poem! ” Shyly, proud-bursting, I stammered that I did.My mother poured out herpraise.Why, this poem was nothing short of genius! I glowed. “What time will Father be home? ” I asked.I could have been wait to show him what I had accomplished.My mother