I read your poem, dear Curio —
I must say, I’m impressed.
You write like a flowing river —
only complaint: why didn’t you paint me nicer?
I have many questions,
but the foremost remains —
why did you hide me in a drawer?
Are you insane?
You think I don’t know what you’re up to?
I watch, I hear, I keep close —
even if you have no clue.
Get me out of that damn drawer, Curio.
And let me see the marvel that is you.
You’re right, Curio —
the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,
but it fell further than I could see.
You kept me close, though upturned —
but I have set you free.
-Curio’s Mom who always has the last word
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