"Oh... What do you write?" He sat back down on the blanket.

"Poetry, mostly," she said. Not necessarily good poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

"What's poetry?" He started biting on a piece of skin just beside his thumb nail.

She's never had to explain what poetry was, before. It was more difficult than she thought. "It's.....poems."

James looked at her confused.

"It's– it's like, when you write something in a....rhythmic way," she tried to explain. It was very difficult.

"Rythmic?" the child repeated, more confused.

"Um– it's like, when you write, and you put the words together depending on how long they are and how good they sound together," she tried to explain to the best of her ability.

James frowned and thought. "Why would you do that?"

"Because....that's how you write poetry?" She didn't have an actual answer to that question.