One might say

that I do not know the world,

I just eat boogers

and play in dirt.

One might say

that all I can do is scribble,

But the thought of others

will cause me to quibble.

My art is but a masterpiece;

Each stroke delicately placed.

For when I give it to my mommy,

It’s only hers to embrace.

Others will only see,

A circle and some lines.

But when her eyes look upon it,

She will love it because it’s mine.

She’ll say it belongs in a museum,

Hanging with the best.

No I’m not Picasso,

But she adores it nonetheless.