Poem 1: I have no real children I have many, many dolls But dolls are not real children They do not cry at all   I have no real children I have stuffed animals galore But stuffed animals are not real children When their breakfast no one pours   I have no real children I have a little sister dear But she is not really my child It’s me she doesn’t head   I have no real children I have darling cat But he is not a real child He obeys too well for that   I might have real children My children are my works For they demand most of me And love me in return   Poem 2 Every waking moment A poem or tale cries to me So I open my writer And feed it, keep it growing When I am feeding it, It heads my direction well But often it wants go on its own Won’t in my direction dwell   Poem 3: I will guard my children Like a tigress with her cub I will fight and protect them Protection they’ll have enough   If anyone tries to take a child A child that is mine They will face the consequences And I shall laugh about their whines   I admit that I neglect my children I ignore them for a bit But they are taken care of While I am out of it   I love all my children But they give me some white hairs This is figuratively spoken Else, at 17 I’d get stares   When I am not nurturing a child, There is one in my mind I have no real children But my stories and poems are a kind