When I was two, I learned to read,

In my hands, I always carried a book.

I remember the words, “Growing like a weed”

Even though my mother was an awful cook.

I spent weeks in the hospital, unexplainably sick

Till they found I was allergic to milk.

So the things I ate weren’t for me to pick,

No dairy, no cheese, no ice cream or that ilk.

 

I must have been happy, I don’t recall bad

My Mema loved and spoiled me

I don’t remember even seeing my Dad,

What’s to be, they say will be.

 

My mother took me to a doctor because she said I read too much.

He told her to let me be, it was she who was out of touch.