It's easy to let the cynic in me win, especially after hearing the fourth "poem" read aloud that begins with "Roses are red." I guess what's trite at 13 gets progressively worse with each decade.
And yet--amidst the sacchrine discussions about hope, things with feathers, and caged birds--it's new to the quiet kid with curly hair sitting in front of me. He wants to be the first person in his family to graduate high school. In four years, he will be in college. He will continue to work hard and some day get a job that will allow his parents to retire happy and proud. He will fulfill their dreams for a successful son and his own dreams to look beyond the limits of our small town.
At least, I sure hope so.