In third grade we were just amorphous blobs,
  by fifth grade, we'd been sorted.
Princes, princesses, also-rans,
  and of course, the unrewarded.

I was the budding knight,
  and you the fragile flower.
Funny how I didn't notice then
  the missing petals in the dower.

It came as a suprise to me,
  that the sorting never stops
You'll think you've won
  the fight is done
And then the other shoe drops.

Sorted and resorted,
  measured, and come up short,
Until one day, finally, you realize
  you never were the sort.

To save the day, to sweep the fray,
  you'll never play the part
Sword and polished shield can't save
  a child with a half-formed heart.

Things we couldn't touch or see,
  things we couldn't say
Kept us from our sleep at night,
  and stole the waking day.

Perhaps it doesn't matter now,
  but from one fairytale to another,
I should have been a better dad,
  and you a better mother.