The poem that made my kids cry

How I made my 7- and 9-year-old boys blubber during homeschool

Saturday Morning Serial

Saturday Morning Serial is the weekend section of Library Binding. It’s a personal corner where I publish short stories, book reviews, and literary musings. I’m Michelle Watson, and I’m so glad you stopped by.

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The craziest thing happened on Monday in homeschool.

Nobody chipped a tooth or broke a leg, as you might expect, considering I homeschool two rambunctious, nose-picking boys, ages 7 and 9.

The craziest thing was…

…that my two immature students got emotional over a poem.

Every week, I try to incorporate at least one poem because don’t we all need more poetry in our lives?

Isaac Watts penned a little thing titled “Love Between Brothers and Sisters.”

That’s what I read to them.

I’ll paste it below for reference.

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What ever brawls are in the street
There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet
Quarrels shou’d never come.

Birds in their little nests agree;
And `tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight.

Hard names at first, and threatening words,
That are but noisy breath,
May grow to clubs and naked swords,
To murder and to death.

The devil tempts one mother’s son
To rage against another:
So wicked Cain was hurried on,
Till he had kill’d his brother.

The wise will make their anger cool
At least before `tis night;
But in the bosom of a fool
It burns till morning light.

Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage;
Our little brawls remove;
That as we grow to riper age,
Our hearts may all be love.

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Subtle and savvy am I.

This poem, I said to myself as I twisted my mustache, is the perfect opportunity to drive home the importance of harmonious sibling relations.

We read the poem. We defined words like “bosom” and “chide.” We talked about each stanza and what it meant. We did it at an elementary level at best. It was not an elevated Socratic discussion, nor are my boys the sensitive type.

See, they’re completely normal 🥸

At one point, they both started getting Puss in Boots eyes. You know the kind, where the eyes grow to glistening, anime proportions. Then, my boys began to bawl.

They cried to the point where my work-from-home husband burst into the kitchen to check on us.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

I gestured toward the poem. It tried to look innocent.

After my crybabies calmed down, I said, “Your hearts were touched.” I asked if they wanted to talk about it, but they said no, and I didn’t press them. So, I can only wonder what was happening inside their minds and hearts.

But something was happening.

This experience reinforced something that I wholeheartedly believe but often lose sight of: Art is powerful.

Art—whether rendered in words, paint, music, or what have you—has the potential to affect us. It stirs the deep water, so to speak.

I’m not talking about propaganda art, where the messaging outstrips any meaning. Nor am I talking about rootless, surface-level art that exists to distract, not engage.

I fully admit that I read this poem to my boys with a character-building agenda in mind. But the poem’s soft touch broke through my hammering strokes nonetheless. I also concede that my boys may have been mostly overtaken by sentimentality more than noble feelings. I say fine. It’s a starting point.

If you’re still reading, and you’re an artist, I offer this: Your work is important.

It is much more than a creative outlet, a side income, or a feather in your cap. It has the potential to be something greater. Fine art goes to that place, and it compels us along.

When we place our artistic efforts in the hands of God, asking him to do whatever he wants—anything can happen. I believe many artists thrill at this prospect, not because it will bring them fame or fortune, but because there is nothing better than offering a few scant loaves and fishes and seeing God use them to feed many.

If you’re still reading this, and you’re not an artist, but you love art, then I offer this: Keep loving it. Keep choosing it despite the siren song of superficial stuff. Support artists who you admire—it’s easy and costs nothing.

The old-fashioned words of crusty Isaac Watts impacted my 21st-century kids on Monday. Art has a way of breaking through.

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Before you go—a song, a scripture, and a survey.

For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power. (1 Cor. 4:20)

I’ll leave you with one irresistible indulgence—inefficiencies don’t usually make me happy, but this might be an exception.

Your devoted,

Michelle

P.S. I had fun collaborating with Elsie from Tea & Ink Society on an article about the rigors and rewards of reading long classic books. Doorstoppers are perfect for the winter months, so go get yourself some recommendations.