"The Author to her Book"

"The Author to her Book"
By Anne Bradstreet
1Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
2Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
3Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
4Who thee abroad expos'd to public view,
5Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
6Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
7At thy return my blushing was not small,
8My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
9I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
10Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight,
11Yet being mine own, at length affection would
12Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
13I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw,
14And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
15I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
16Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet.
17In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
18But nought save home-spun Cloth, i' th' house I find.
19In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
20In Critics' hands, beware thou dost not come,
21And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
22If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none;
23And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
24Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.

http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/208.html

Poetry Chart Poem:"The Author of her Book"
Author:Anne Bradstreet
Speaker:A woman writing about her thoughts.
Rhyme:AABB
Imagery:Calling her thoughts her child.
Figurative Language:Calling her thoughts her child.
Rhythm:AABB Tone:The poem portrays a tone of seroiusness about her thoughts.
Mood:The Mood is that you shouldent let your thoughts go to waste.

Reflection:
This poem is about an authors dissatisfaction with the poetry that she has written. Although she writes that her work is praised, she feels dissatisfied with her work because she finds what she knows is wrong, and what she should have included in her works. The author seems to be trying to overlook the imperfections that she had left in her works, and she is trying to belive that nobody else sees them.

Diary:
Those people that think they know my work! They no nothing of me. Can they not see the imperfections that I have left in these peices of rubbish?! It is as if they are mocking my work, trying to pretend that they enjoy my work. I would rather them tell me what I am at fault so that I can fix it for my next peice of work.