Poet, Interrupted

Have you ever been on the verge of something brilliant when you were suddenly interrupted? In a different vein, have you ever read a story and felt like, between the lines, you gained insight into current events in the writer's life?

A few weeks ago my mom was here. With her she brought a small box which held random papers and things from long ago that belonged to me. To be honest, I'll get rid of most of it, but I did happen upon something a little different than the other forgotten-significance artifacts. My highly-honed handwriting analysis skills tell me that I penned this around age five or six. I've had a request for more poetry; I hope this gives some intellectual satisfaction.
(Translation: A Poem Written by Alison Raymond
The world so beautiful
and the flowers are growing
when-I-go-2-bed-I-don't-like-2
The End.)

Can't a writer catch a break? Speaking of breaks, I hope everyone has a good weekend.