Damn She's Got Talent

I am going to do a big no-no, but I can't help it. I'm a mother, and I've got three amazing daughters-- and for today, you can all groan over one of them.
I say groan because that is what I always did when my dad took in photos of me to his work. I swear he has a picture of me for each year of my life-- in every princess dress I've ever owned-- stuffed, and I mean stuffed, into his wallet.
But today, it's my turn-- brace yourself.
Miss Maggie Moo--What a child-- blonde hair, big blue eyes-- electric eyes, and a smile that could change the seasons.
And she is smart.
Last night while we were trying to figure out what she could bring in for show and tell, she pulled out some blank paper.
"I want to do what you do," she said.
"You want to interview the Magalia Beautification Association?" I said.
"No. Can I write a poem?" she said.
Poems can be short. They don't have to rhyme, and they don't even have to make sense because you could just tell the readers "the message goes deeper. Keep digging." Perfect for a 7-year-old.
This is her poem. She wrote it all by herself-- no help, except with spelling

My Mother's Garden

There are lots of flowers in a garden--
different types--
yellow and pink and
purple, white-- and
green leaves.

When I smell them,
they remind me of
flower candy.

Everyday I look out the window
and look at the flowers.
The pansy faces--
they smile at me.
In winter
they are sad.
They want a blanket.

By Maggie age 7