#29 – “WHERE AM I FROM?”

Oh, where am I from?
The place that pulsed like a beating drum
The place I grew up in, I will never escape
Nor would I wish to, in any case
 
There- oh there, the river flows
Near to the hills where I used to play and grow
Bare feet on bare Earth, to feel the mother’s pulse
Peeking through the thick boughs
 
Of the trees, those pine trees that held up the sky
Swinging from the branches, the best I could fly
Joining the squirrels in their home
They welcomed me into their abode
 
And scamper off I would
Running any which way I could
Over to the sandy plains
On which grew the ever present sage
 
The smell of which still brings me back
To a simpler time, before I felt under attack
From all the harsh truths that face the adult
Oh, to go back and indulge!
 
Submitted by Xander Hargreaves, USA

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