(A)

　　One early morning, I went into the living room to find my mother reading a thick book called Best Loved Poems to Read Again and Again. My interest was aroused only by the fact that the word “Poems” appeared in big, hot pink letters.

　　“Is it good?” I asked her.

　　“Yeah,” she answered. “There’s one I really like and you’ll like it, too.” I leaned forward.

　　“‘Patty Poem,’” she read the title. Who is Patty? I wondered. The poem began:

　　She never puts her toys away,

　　Just leaves them scattered① where they lay,… ①散乱的

　　The poem was just three short sections. The final one came quickly:

　　When she grows and gathers poise②, ②稳重

　　I’ll miss her harum-scarum③ noise, ③莽撞的

　　And look in vain④ for scattered toys. ④徒劳地

　　And I’ll be sad.

　　A terrible sorrow washed over me. Whoever Patty was, she was a mean girl. Then, the shock.

　　“It’s you, honey,” My mother said sadly.

　　To my mother, the poem revealed a parent’s affection when her child grows up and leaves. To me, the “she” in the poem was horror. It was my mama who would be sad. It was so terrible I burst out crying.

　　“What’s wrong?” my mother asked.

　　“Oh Mama,” I cried. “I don’t want to grow up ever!”

　　She smiled. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re not growing up anytime soon. And when you do, I’ll still love you, okay?”

　　“Okay,” I was still weeping. My panic has gone. But I could not help thinking about that silly poem. After what seemed like a safe amount of time, I read the poem again and was confused. It all fit so well together, like a puzzle. The language was simple, so simple I could plainly understand its meaning, yet it was still beautiful. I was now fascinated by the idea of poetry, words that had the power to make or break a person’s world.

　　I have since fallen in love with other poems, but “Patty Poem” remains my poem. After all, “Patty Poem” gave me my love for poetry not because it was the poem that lifted my spirits, but because it was the one that hurt me the most.

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